Freelance Alliance: The Sky's Angels
by Glensather
Summary: The Year is 2007. We stand here on the precipice of war and peace. We are the Freelance Alliance. This is our story. Remade, revised, R&R please!
1. The Beginning of the Cycle

**Exile Studios Presents: A Special Production OVA**

**Freelance Alliance: the Sky's Angels**

**---The Beginning of the Cycle**

**------By: Glensather Galanodel**

**---------Published by: Exile Studios**

**Bronze Gate One (Under Construction) – May 6th, 2006**

The men sat in a dark room. A single lamp dangled from a cord connected to the ceiling, casting dull shadows against the plain off-white walls. They sat around a circular table, with a projection in the middle showing a list of everything from names to equipment. These eight men composed the leaders of the special black-ops squadron, soon to be formed under a singular banner.

They all had their reasons for being here. Some were obscured in shadow, and others were glad to tell of their past. However, they all had the same reason for being here: they were hand-picked by a secret organization within the United Nations of Erusia and the Independent States of Usea (ISU) to head the Freelance Alliance – a squadron of men and women from around the world of varying backgrounds and skills, brought together for different agendas, maybe even greater than their own.

The posted "leader" of this band of rogues came in the form of Erick von Long, a man just hitting the age of forty. His military-style haircut was hidden by the fedora he wore, and his M1911 was slung casually in a holster on his back. He adjusted the strap quickly before assuming a relaxed position, slinging one arm over the back of the chair and propping his left foot up onto the table, his steel-toed boot gleaming dully in the light.

"So," he said, his voice gruff and hard; that of an experienced individual. "We've seen the proposed size and magnitude of this base when it's finished. But what are we going to do about pilots?" he adjusted his hat. "We can't exactly pick them off the street, you know. I sure as hell don't want a crop duster covering my wing,"

Two of the men looked at each other and each gave the other a nod of consent. The older of the two shrugged before leaning forward, slipping a CD into his laptop and pulling up a list of some thirty individuals. He then shortened the list to some twenty. His bright blue eyes looked up at Erick, who stared almost intently.

"These pilots have been the ones observed and believed to be of the best use. Lieutenant Santos and I want to shorten this list to about eight, making the Temnota Squadron into a dual-flight wing of five each. Like us, they hail from different backgrounds and nations, but they'll still be quite useful, especially when they fully develop their piloting skills. You'll notice that many of them are Airmen; well, there's a reason for that. We fully believe that we can train these pilots to be the best, and eventually replace us in the long run," Erick scanned the list for names, and shrugged.

"How are you going to recruit them?" he asked. "Many of them won't want to join, and many still won't be good enough to join,"

"Well, that's why we're keeping the list large," replied the pilot, his Captain's insignia catching the light of the laptop and overhead as he shifted in his seat. "We figure that out of these twenty, only six or seven will actually be willing to join. We may still have to find people, but at least this way it won't be so bad on us. If it's ok with you, then we'd like to get some people to find these recruits,"

"Granted," said Erick without hesitation. "Try and find these pilots before the year is out, too, all right?" The Captain nodded, and then looked at his colleague. The younger one nodded approval and the older turned back, relaxing slightly in his chair and looking about at who would but their suggestions up next. When none were forthcoming, Erick turned to someone at his left.

"Tell us about how Air Ixiom is proceeding," he suggested to the as-yet-unranked pilot sitting there. The young man pulled his chair up closer to the table and greeted the flight leaders with a rather cold stare, taking aback even his best friend and comrade. He glared at Erick for a second before proceeding with his suggestions.

"Needless to say, Air Ixiom needs bombers and attackers," he began. "Unfortunately, we have neither, except for a B-2 pilot that joined up upon my friend Captain Jacobo suggesting that he do so. Like Temnota, we need two wings of five attackers each. If at all possible, we're trying to recruit some Strike Eagle pilots," he smirked at the man sitting to his left. "Captain, if you will?"

"Right," said Captain Cid Jacobo, sitting up and pulling up a list of almost forty names. A bullet dangled loosely from a silver chain necklace that glimmered in the light as he began clicking on names. "These are all the Eagles we could find. About half are Strikers, but I figure "hey, what the hell?" and have put all these guys for you to see,"

"And other than taking up time, Captain, why don't you highlight only the guys we need to get to join?" asked Erick, a faint tone of annoyance edging his voice.

"Well, to be honest, sir," answered Jacobo, chuckling lightly. "…I forgot which ones were the Strike Eagle pilots," he smiled crookedly at his friend, who could help but laugh too. "So it looks like we'll have to go to each one until we get the right guys," he un-highlighted the names and made the list a bit bigger. "These are all respectable pilots, sir. It'll be up to you as to who should be in it permanently as we bring them in… sir," Erick nodded.

"Well, like I said to Raneses and Santos, you have until the end of the year," he said, reminding the other flight leads. He put his foot back on the floor. "Now, moving on, what have we got for the Naval Air fleet?" A long-haired, young man pulled his chair up, and his gloved hands began typing on the keyboard in front of him, pulling up a list of only ten names. "Is this it?" asked Erick.

"That's the idea," was the light reply. "I'll have them by the end of June, sir," he looked at the computer a second. "Make that July,"

"Right," confirmed Erick. "Now, instead of going over Thanatos squadron, how about we recess for a second? I could use a cup of coffee right about now," The group conceded, and Erick turned off the projector. "Ok, then," he stood and adjusted his hat before walking out of the room. The Air Ixiom leaders followed him, followed by the leader of the Air fleet. Lastly, the leaders of Thanatos and Temnota squadrons left.

The overhead lamp swung aimlessly.

* * *

**Bronze Gate One (Under Construction) – Catapult 2 – May 6th, 2006**

A pilot stood at the back of the launch pad as the technicians lowered a Hawk on to the launch ramp. The test pilot – a computer – relayed information to a nearby screen, detailing everything about the jet's status. The wheels of the jet retracted into its belly as it was lifted onto a "chute", where magnets pulled on the aircraft, keeping it aloft.

Joseph Burns, an older pilot with graying hair, watched with passive interest as the computer seemed to complain about the strain on the aircraft and itself. It register that a force of about .5G was pulling on it from all directions. However, the thruster of the jet still began to turn, causing it to push out a lot of hot exhaust. Technicians put up the barricade.

"Begin first stage launch sequence," ordered the lead tech. A few key commands reversed the magnetic field, pushing on the fighter instead of pulling on it. The nose-end of the fighter, however, remained the same; as in, the magnets continued to pull on the fighter. The computer complained farther as the Hawk felt the strain of the competing magnetic fields.

"Begin second stage launch sequence," The door at the end of the catapult opened, revealing the open daylight of noon. Guiding lights blinked in sequence to the end of the launch chute. "Launch!"

A simple command set the chute into motion. The magnets in front of the fighter pulled on it, accelerating it, while the magnets behind the fighter pushed, propelling it forward. The Hawk zipped in a straight line right for the exit. At halfway it hit 500kp/h. At ¾ of the way it was breaking the sound barrier.

As soon as it hit the last set of magnets, the Hawk suddenly lurched to the left and down, bounced off the wall, and flew out into the open in pieces. The computer went off-line as it broke apart into atoms. Klaxons blared.

"Shut off that alarm!" shouted the lead tech. As one of the lower engineers went to work on it, he looked over at the test area of the launch bay. "What was it this time!"

"The same problem as last week!" replied one of the lower techs. "The last five magnets are to strong on the left side of the tunnel!" The alarms went off, and the red lights died out. "No matter what, it seems that until this base is finished, that magnet will always pull. Right now, though, we simply don't have the resources or the money," He looked back at the screen. "Maybe we should just go for a traditional runway,"

"But where would we put it?" interjected the attending pilot. "Unless we spend that much more on knocking down these concrete walls, then we won't have enough room to put a conventional runway. Instead we're going to use these catapults to shoot fighters out. It's cheaper and, hopefully, more effective,"

He looked at the lead technician and nodded. The younger man grinned and nodded back. Joseph Burns turned about and left, reassuring himself that Caelum would use a solid asphalt runway.

As he walked into the hallway that ran the width of the… base of Bronze Gate One, he ran into two pilots, both of which were talking amiably. Their eyes locked onto the sullen and formal Captain of Thanatos squadrons and suddenly felt the urge to shut up.

"Pilots," he greeted formally. They nodded in return.

"Captain Burns," the older pilot said. "How are you this morning?"

"Fine," replied the old man. Then he walked past them and left. The younger pilot watched him go until he was out of earshot.

"What a weird old man," he laughed. It was replied with by a smack to the back of the head. "Ow! Damnit, what'd I do?"

"Don't disrespect him," scolded Raneses. "He's a much more experienced pilot than both of us, Cid. He's got some problems, sure, but don't call him weird,"

"What about old?"

"Oh… well, I don't know,"

"Didn't think so," A grin spread once again across Cid's face, and the two resumed walking down the hall, touring the base at their leisure. They had barely gone halfway when quite suddenly the hallway ended, leaving a giant crater where a fighter had bombed the base during the fight of Megalith.

Like most parts of the base above ground, this section of the fortress had been damaged or destroyed by the attack conducted by Mobius Wing last year. So not only were the engineers and construction workers remodeling the base; they had to rebuild whole sections. Most of the above ground rooms near the center of the base, and even some underground, were severely damaged by the destruction of the large missile.

"Well… damn," Cid said with his eyes wide. "That is a big hole,"

"Gee, really?" RM replied dryly. "What gave you that idea?" Rolling his eyes, the older pilot turned and walked off. "No wonder they hired you!" he called back toward Cid. "You're such a genius, after all!"

Cid promptly chased him down and tried to beat the living hell out of the older pilot.

* * *

**Bronze Gate One (Under Construction) – Outside Generator 2 – May 6th, 2006**

A gloved hand reached down and pulled a box out of a coat pocket. Tipping the box over, a white cigarette came out and landed into the open hand. The carton was placed back and a lighter was produced. A quick light started burning the nicotine and tobacco in the death stick. The pilot took a drag and let the smoke out through his nose.

"Hey," a voice said. The man looked up into the blue eyes of Captain Chris Johnson. "You look like you could use a friend,"

The black-wearing pilot, leaning against a wall, pushed himself off of it and shrugged. Taking another drag, he began walking off; back to the door Chris came out of.

"Perhaps," he said, looking over his shoulder. Chris began to follow.

"You and Captain Burns are probably two of the most unsocial people I know," Chris began. "I'm sure both of you have your reasons for the ways you are, but don't you think you're flight wing might be a bit disturbed or not trustful of you?"

"They'll get over it," was the quiet reply. The pilot took another hit from the cigarette. "They'll have to, if I'm the flight lead,"

"Yeah, but it's a question of morale," Chris argued. "You're not going to be dealing with seasoned veterans, Lieutenant; you'll be dealing with nuggets, barely even polished. You want them to respect you, not to _fear_ you. It'll only cause them to mess up in the long run. We want them to live, not die. Don't you?"

"Of course," he replied quickly. "Of course I do. But I'm not going to change the way I am for nine other pilots. Eventually they'll learn not to fear. If not, then they'll die anyway. I don't think it'll be a problem," Chris narrowed his eyes.

"Yeah, but what if they do?"

"…You have learned to accept me, have you not?"

"Well, yeah, but-"  
"Then this conversation is over,"

Long coat flowing behind him, the black-clad pilot threw the cigarette on the floor and stepped on it, ignoring Chris's protests.

"Hey, wait, what's your name? At least tell me that!" Chris shouted after him. The pilot turned a corner, and Chris cursed. "Damnit," he complained. "What's his problem?"

"It's not so much a problem as a personality," a voice from behind Chris made him jump. He turned to see Erick standing there, frowning with disdain at the crushed cigarette on the floor. "It's just how he is. He's not very social, but he's a good pilot. It may not look like it, but he'll train the new guys well; within his own limitations of course. It's exactly what you will do, too, Chris,"

"Yeah, but…" Chris shook his head. "It just doesn't make sense, I guess. Oh, well…" he shrugged. "It's not my fault he's a prune, so what's up?"

"Nothing, just rallying the pilots back together," he said. "Head on back to our "briefing room", Chris. I'll be there shortly," he looked ahead. "Let me catch this fellow," he adjusted his eyes before walking off, turning the same corner the other pilot did.

Chris stared, shrugged, and shifted off. He headed down the hallway where Erick came from, and nearly ran into his fellow flight leader, Alfred Santos. "Whoa, sorry there," he said.

"It's ok," replied Alfred. "I was just talking to Erick when he walked off. I was going to catch up with him, but he told me to report back to the room,"

"Same here," said Chris. "Let's go,"

Along the way, the duo ran into Air Ixiom's flight leaders, then into Captain Burns. Together the group headed back for the elevator that led to the below ground complex of the city. Meanwhile, Erick finally caught up to the Navy pilot.

"Well?" he asked when he approached the still pilot. "What do you think, Glen? Too much happiness for you?"

"Funny," came the snide remark. "I'll have you know that I don't mind the overall cheery attitude of this place right now. However, I do enjoy my privacy. When it's violated is when I begin ignoring people,"

"I know," Erick muttered. "But anyway, it's time to head back. Come on," Glen nodded, and the two began the trek to the nearest elevator.

* * *

**Bronze Gate One (Under Construction) – "The Room" – May 6th, 2006**

"So here we are again," said Erick. "It's been a good couple of hours, so let's get this started,"

"The first order of business is to find out where the large planes are to be launched from. We thought about extending the main tunnel into a third catapult, but that is proving to be too expensive. The ground is too short for a large plane like a B-2 to launch from, and the road that runs perpendicular to the two catapults is too wide,"

"How about we make a runway that extends into the water?" suggested Chris. "We could use the third tunnel as a hangar of sorts, and launch the planes from there. If we put anti-air defenses along the edges of the runway, it'll prove to be an effective runway,"

"I agree," concurred Santos. "I'm sure that if we coated a platform of steel with Teflon so it wouldn't run, we could make a long and wide enough runway,"

"But what about the cost for a runway like that?" asked Erick. "Every missile launched from a SAM is about ten thousand credits. If we scrapped the defenses, it may work, but the anti-air defenses for the catapults may not be able to cover the runway if a fighter flies in low,"

"That's a risk we'll have to take…" The others paused, and then nodded. "Right, let's get back to work…"

* * *

**Freelance Alliance: The Sky's Angels**

**---Nuggets**

** 1 Year Later... **  
A new pilot stepped out onto the dock on Bronze Gate One, to the east of the base's primary entrance. The music faded as he began walking to the base, swinging the bag behind him to carry it easier.

The young pilot walked to the front door and was stopped by the two guards standing at attention. He allowed them to search him for any dangerous items, and took away his USP. He protested, despite assurances that he would get the gun back if he checked out to be OK. Nevertheless, he was herded inside, where he found a young secretary who asked for his identification card. He reached into a back pocket and pulled out a slip of folded paper, along with a small credit-card sized object. She took them both and scanned the barcodes. They checked out to be just fine.

"Very well," she finally said. "Welcome to the Freelance Alliance, Airman. If you head through the doors behind me, you will find a long hallway. Head to the first junction and take a right, where you'll take your oath of secrecy and meet the base commander. You will then be assigned to a squadron based on your flight record and preference of aircraft," she flashed a pretty smile. "It's good to have you with us, Airman Fukai,"

The man, Fukai, nodded and walked into the open doors to the secretary's right. As she said, there was a long hallway, with a junction at the end. He walked it slowly, counting his footsteps until he came to a 4-way junction. As per his directions, he took a right. He found that, save for the door at the very end, this hall was relatively blank. He put a hand against the wall and ran his hand over it as he made his way to the end. There, he found an elevator, and two guards. They let him pass without a hitch.

He stepped in the elevator, and the two men followed. One of them pushed a "B" button, and the AFC felt a lurch as the elevator started and began its trip downward. One of the soldiers made a half-hearted apology to the pilot, telling him that there were still a few "kinks" to work out in the system. "It should be fixed by the end of the month," he claimed, smirking at the pilot, who shifted uneasily as the elevator dropped three feet before catching itself.

But the ride was short to the B3 floor, and the pilot stepped out of the elevator and put his feet on solid "ground". Before him were a series of hallways – a barracks of sorts – and a grinning young man wearing a flight suit.

"You must be one of the nuggets," he said.

"…I guess," replied Fukai, wary of the friendly pilot before him. He looked at the pilot's jacket and on it the name "Jacobo, Cid" was stitched on. On his sleeve the mark of Captain shone proudly, and the bullet that dangled from his necklace reflected brightly, showing the lower-ranked pilot his own distorted reflection in it.

"You are… AFC Rei Fukai, correct?" Cid asked, his dark eyes laughing at the uncomfortable pilot. "Come with me to the briefing room down the hall," He turned and began walking down the hall, and Rei obediently followed. The older pilot, Cid, thought the new guy weird, but he didn't argue for now; they needed still more pilots, and this new guy would probably fit the bill for an effective fighter pilot. Temnota and Air Ixiom were still three pilots short each.

Meanwhile, the younger of the two pilots also had thoughts about the man leading him around. For one, he was incredibly friendly for a pilot; many of his old allies in Yuktobania were only slightly more talkative than he, and even then the strict discipline flight leaders demanded rarely left time to talk, or even have time to do anything but sleep, snack, and shit. A smile flashed briefly across the fighter's face as he remembered the CO he beat the crap out of, but it dropped when he entered the quiet briefing room of Colonel Erick von Long…

* * *

**Over Bronze Gate One Construction Site – March 10th, 2007 – 1540 hours**

Meanwhile, back at the surface, at the far end of the catapults, two wings of five jets were making their rounds. The first wing consisted of two F-14Ds, a Rafale B, an F-4E, and an F-14A. The second had three F-14Ds, an F/A-18E, and an F-35C. Far above them, an E-767 AWACS watched the flight maneuvers from the safety of 35000 feet.

"This is AWACS Hijacker," the pilot called to the fighters. "All aircraft report in,"

"Barracuda Leader, standing by,"

"Barracuda Wing, standing by,"

"Barracudas 3-7, standing by,"

"Barracudas 8 and 9, standing by,"

"Barracuda 10, standing by,"

The lead F-14D opened his channels to the other pilots.

"Ok, we'll now test the flight ability of our new recruits," he said. "Banshee, you know what to do, right?" The blue-eyed pilot of the F-14D leading the other flight glared at his leader.

"Of course I do," he growled. "It was my idea!"

"Then let's get to it," replied the leader, unphased by his wingman's customary short temper. "All aircraft form up behind either me or Barracuda Wing. We'll send you the co-ordinates of a set of rings. You are the follow either me or Banshee through the rings. If you miss one, you will have to start over. Got it? Good. Let's begin,"

Fourth in line for this exercise was Jonathan Anderson, also known as "Viper", according to his moniker, pulled into line behind the lead plane and gripped tightly onto the controls. He put the visor down on his helmet to keep the sun glare out, and got ready for a complicated flight. He wasn't the greatest pilot here – maybe he was the worst – but he wouldn't let that get him down, or stop him from at least trying. _I'm ready,_ he thought. _I can do this._

The rings came up on his HUD. He gunned his afterburners the same time as his flight lead, and he and the other four that chose to follow him began to fly straight ahead, going through the first five rings without a hitch. They got a little more complicated as they began to pull upward and spiral into the sky at a 30 degree angle. Due to his jet's terrible yaw rate, Jonathan was forced to slow down, as were many. The F-35 pilot pulled out ahead of them, taking the spiral with ease.

"Good job, Barracuda 10," their flight leader commented. "However, you don't want to leave the others behind. Notice how I'm staying within a hundred meters of them,"

"Yes, sir,"

"Remember, pilots, this is not only a test but a lesson in mechanics. You're going to find out the limitations of your aircraft and yourselves by doing this. For example, look at how easy the JSF handled the spiral of the barrel roll," He leveled out and waited for the others to do so before continuing. "The Tomcat, and even her variants, was not made for yawing; they were made for high-speed mobility. Though her turning arc is significantly wider than many other craft with afterburners engaged, it is faster than many aircraft. Now, let's begin lesson 2,"

As the rings began a straight line down into the ocean, Viper felt a sense of excitement. Watching the ground rush up at him while he was still at 15000 feet was amazing. He wanted to pull up, but following his wing leader was thrilling him. He smiled as, at the very last second, the pilot pulled up and engaged the air-brakes and flaps, flaring the aircraft and slowing it down immensely. He knew that, in order to survive, he would have to do the same.

"Oh… damn…" he said as he disengaged afterburners – and the throttle – to zero, and opened his air brake and flaps, pulling his nose up as he did so. The aircraft screamed under the strain of the complex maneuver, but it held. As he neared the ground, he pushed the throttle up all the way to afterburners. He heard the engines kick in and roar into the sky, and hoped that it would be enough.

There was a moment when his F-14 _hovered_ over the water, with the number "10" reading on Viper's altimeter. He gasped, and then laughed, as the aircraft pushed forward. The flaps retracted and the brake was lowered, and Jonathan grinned as he caught up with his flight lead.

"So how'd I do?" he asked eager to hear the wing leader's response as he stared into Barracuda Leader's cockpit. The long-haired pilot looked at him.

"You keep flying like that," he said darkly… then relented. "You may become an excellent pilot, Anderson," looking back, both of them saw that the other fighters had pulled out of the steep dive, rejoining with Barracuda Wing's exercise.

"Look at that," someone said. Up above, Hijacker watched as cargo planes, filled with disassembled fighters, landed on the completed extended runway to Bronze Gate One, one after the other…

* * *

**Bronze Gate One (Under Construction) – March 10th, 2007 – 1540 hours**

Airman First Class Sam Deakin, 20 years old, stepped from one of the cargo planes. He was greeted by a few guards and escorted to the same elevator where Rei Fukai had gone down some moments ago. He had already been here once before, in a C-17 loaded with men, but had been called back when he was on his way to acquire his fighter. As it turned out, his fighter had been disassembled and placed on a C-17 as a type of covert method of transportation.

As he walked into the elevator, he noticed another pilot was inside. It was one of Air Ixiom's flight leads, RM Raneses. The older pilot nodded to the younger.

"Welcome back to Bronze Gate One," he said.

"Thanks, sir," Sam replied, saluting. RM returned the salute, and the airman stepped on board the elevator. "They disassembled my jet and put it on a cargo jet heading for here,"

"I know," Raneses said. "But it's the only way to get multiple fighters here. Besides, it's not like we'll be using them for a while,"

"Still," Sam began, before biting his tongue. It was a superior officer he was talking to, not a pilot with his rank. "Permission to speak freely, sir,"

"Go ahead,"

"Even _with_ the contingent of emergency Block 60s here, I doubt we could fend off an attack of some sort, don't you think?"

"Well, yeah…"

"Wouldn't it be a shame if we were attacked about now?"

The elevator stopped, ending the conversation. Raneses stepped out first, followed by Sam. He led the young pilot to the briefing room, where Erick sat, feet propped up, hat over his face. Another pilot, who Sam didn't recognize, stood at attention, a frown etched on his hard features. Sam smiled wryly at the naïve pilot, who didn't know that Erick hated not only having someone call him sir or even saluting him, but he didn't like people standing at attention for him.

Sam took a seat behind the newcomer. He wanted to watch how this played out.

* * *

**On board Air Ixiom Airlines Flight 701 – Above Farbanti Airspace – March 10th, 2007 - 1540 hours**

The girl looked out from her window to the white clouds as the jet she was on began its initial approach vector to land in Farbanti International Airport. Rena Davenport was 16 years old, with light brown hair and piercing green eyes. She was beautiful, and her body seemed to belong to that of a girl two or three years older. Her long hair fell to her shoulders as she looked out the window with her intense eyes.

She loved flying. She and her brother both were avid hang glider pilots and she alone had spent over two weeks worth of her life in the air. Her older brother, Alvin, had just joined the Osean Air Force. He was undergoing flight training right now, if the hour wasn't too late. She smiled as she thought of her older brother, whom she believed was the only one who understood how she felt about flying. It was funny that they had even picked out callsigns for themselves, for when they'd begin flying.

It was also strange that she, at a too-young age, had been summoned by her stepsister, Leila, to Farbanti so she could sign-up for the ISAF Air Force. She of course had heard about the ISAF/Erusan conflict, and like many wanna-be pilots, she dreamed of becoming as good, if not better, than the famed "Mobius 1", the unnamed pilot who, along with the best pilots from other squadrons, formed "Mobius Wing" and won the war; not to say of the countless men and women that died, as well.

But she was curious; since when was an ISAF installation put right outside Farbanti? Granted, it was some few hundred kilometers, but that was nothing for a company of fighters to come in and create havoc in the city.

Rena sighed, propping her chin on a hand as she stared at the sky as it fell from view. The thought of joining a squadron to fly was exciting, but it wasn't the real thing… and that's what she wanted. She could only hope that whatever her stepsister had in mind would be nice.

* * *

**Bronze Gate One (Under Construction) – March 10th, 2007 - 1600 Hours**

The door to the briefing room opened, and slowly the rookies trickled inside, along with the higher ranks and flight leaders, minus the air fleet and Thanatos. The soft blue glow of the giant computer screen behind Erick lit the front of the room, displaying a highly detailed map of Erusea, down to the separate small towns. The area of Bronze Gate One, highlighted in red, shown in contrast to the blue and green hues in the mainland Erusea, separating it from the rest of the map with its color.

Erick was oblivious to this as he seemed to sleep. Fukai had given up a long time ago and sat in the front row, staring intently at the map and taking in the features he saw. Behind him, Sam Deakin couldn't help but snicker to himself.

"Hey, cut that out," Raneses whispered as Cid repeatedly made obscene sounds next to him, eliciting a laugh from the younger pilot.

"BOOM!"

The room jumped, and people fell out of their desks. Rei clutched his heart, paralyzed with surprise at the sudden motion of the Freelance Alliance leader. Sam snickered, and then roared with laughter at the rookie.

"Now that I have your attention," Erick said, standing as the crowd settled down. "Let me first welcome you all to the Freelance Alliance. I will be your commander, Erick von Long. Your flight leaders are all seated among you, but I trust you've already met. For those who haven't, I suggest that you find out soon," he paused, looking at the map behind him, before looking back at the nuggets and tipping his hat to them.

"Soon you'll all begin your first tours of duty with us," he began. "Hopefully, the reason won't be for war. Mostly, you'll be working recon and scouting, probably even a few parade runs and escort duties. However, don't expect anything major. We had two flights not here, Thanatos and-"

Even from five levels below, the explosion rocked through the base as one-hundred Long-Range Air-to-Surface Missiles collided with the base in various random positions. The computer screen behind Erick turned into a giant red "WARNING" logo. Erick fell to his feet, then quickly scrabbled up and ran for the phone on the wall.

"Bridge, what the hell was that?"

"We've been attacked! Radar picked up nothing on the scopes! Visual contact has just confirmed that ten B-2s have been seen leaving the area at vector 108, on a steady high rise. Hold on…" There was a silence on the phone as the bridge crew exchanged some words. The flight leaders quieted down the rookies. "Casualties are all over the place, sir. Almost 100 men have been confirmed dead,"

"The catapults?"  
"Number 1 is operational and suffered no damage, as neither did Number 2. However-"

"Number 2 still doesn't work, I know. Tell me about Runway 3,"

"Good to go. They've finished prepping the Block 60s and your F-4X for pursuit, sir,"

"Block 60s? What about their fighters?"

"Not finished assembling them yet, sir; they still need time in the maintenance bays and – hold on… Sir, there's a squad of almost 20 bogies on their way here. Radar lists them as mid-size, coming in at Vector 160. Probably carrier-based,"

"Damn, looks like we'll have to do this the old-fashioned way, then," Erick hung up the phone. "Listen up, kids!"

Instantly, the rookies snapped to attention.

"We're moving out! Your fighters aren't rebuilt yet, so you'll be using F-16 Block 60s. Our mission is to pursue the escaping B-2s if at all possible and to intercept the incoming aircraft!" He paused and looked at the rookies and flight leaders' faces; they seemed determined, ready to carry out their mission. Inwardly, he smiled. Outwardly, he laughed. "Let's do it to it, boys and girls! Move, move, move!"

The room exploded into motion as twenty men rushed for the two doors to the hangars…

* * *

**Freelance Alliance: The Sky's Angels**

**--Perimeter**

"Move kids, go!"

Pilot Fukai closed the canopy of the F-16 as it bobbed and weaved aimlessly in Catapult One's magnetic field. He stared down the center of the launch tube and held a hand on the throttle. Below him, a hatch opened, another Falcon loaded on it. Behind him, the launch crew and the waiting pilots prepared for him to launch. An arc of electricity connected two magnets far down at the other end briefly before dispersing.

"Go! Go! Go!"

Rei was pushed back in his seat as the fighter quickly sped up to beyond Mach 1. He gunned the afterburners halfway down, giving him another boost of speed. The shaft of darkness, illuminated by dull lights along the bottom, quickly began to brighten as he neared the end of the launch bay. He tried to pry his hand off the throttle, but it was unresponsive at this speed and force.

His Block 60 burst out of the tunnel and began a rapid descent to the ocean. He pulled up instinctively, and his fighter strained as its nose pointed up to the sky. Above him, the rest of the Temnota squadron had been deployed. The fighting hadn't started yet, but the enemy fighters were quickly closing in from almost five kilometers away. For this he was glad, because he had a chance to catch his breath.

He pulled into formation with the rest of Temnota. His flight lead, Chris Johnson, quickly designated him as Raven 4.

"Closing to 3000 meters," Curse said. "Listen up, Fell-Ravens! We'll be the first to engage the enemy. We're only loaded up with 4 Sidewinders and 2 Sparrows, so make every shot count! Got it?"

"Yes, sir," Rei whispered, pulling up behind Raven 3, an airman named "Shadow". I'll take your wing,"

"Roger that," the other pilot replied. Another click on his com switched channels.

"Raven 4; report your callsign and status,"

"My name is Rei Fukai, callsign Yukikaze. My status is good,"

"Ok," Curse said. "Alright, here they come, Ravens!" Curse suddenly shouted. "Engage, now!" In front of him, Curse suddenly pushed down, sending the fighter to the ocean. On his heads up display, Fukai saw about 20 boxes, each one labeled "F-14A". Shadow suddenly pulled to the right and up. Rei followed quickly, just as a Lock-On indicator lit up. His HUD quickly turned red. He pulled on his flight stick in the same direction he was already going, only harder. His Falcon strained under the pressure, so he cut off his burners and let the momentum of the combined speed and fall act as a speed boost to his already existing Mach 1+ speed. The poorly fired missile streaked by the underside of his fighter.

His wing lead no where to be found, Yukikaze set the fighter into a low run, just above the ocean, where he had a moment to look for his missing wing lead. In front of him catapult 2 loomed… and a jet roared out of it. Rei and the pilot of the incoming fighter both pulled up at the same time. The tighter turning radius of the Falcon saved his life, though, as both he and the other pilot barely scraped the undersides of their fighters.

"Whoa, there, pilot!" The other jet's pilot, Erick, shouted. "Watch what you're doing!" the com clicked off, and an F-4 pulled out in front of Yukikaze for a second before going into a loop. Meanwhile, Rei leveled out his fighter and targeted an F-14 flying across his field of vision toward the east. He pulled his fighter to the left and began pursuit. He was shaken slightly by the recent events, but he tried not to let it get to him as he pushed his throttle up.

The enemy craft, seeing his pursuer on radar, quickly banked to the right in an effort to shake him off. Yukikaze replied by waiting one-half of a second before also banking hard right. It took all of his jet's effort to keep up with the other fighter as it hit afterburners and peeled away from him. Narrowing his eyes in annoyance, Yukikaze turned the opposite direction and began a wide turning arc. He slowly tightened the turn on his aircraft until he came face to face with his opponent.

Without even waiting for a tone, Yukikaze called "Fox 2!" and launched the Sidewinder from his right wingtip and tightened his arc to its deepest angle. His opponent had no time to react to the missile as it plowed into the Tomcat's nose, crushing the pilot in the cockpit before detonating in a red and orange glow. Pieces of jet turned into shrapnel as it flew in all directions. Another F-16 narrowly avoided the blast, and pieces of jet pelted off the fighter's canopy.

Grimly smiling, Yukikaze leveled off his fighter, and then pulled up to meet another opponent.

* * *

"Sir, if we keep using Catapult One, it will overload," one of the engineers claimed as Erick quickly walked through the underground hangar. "We need to use the second launch tube!"

"…fine, then," growled the FA leader as he reached the elevator that took him up to the catapult decks. "I guess I have to be the first to go out of it, too,"

"Well, your fighter is the next to launch, along with another fighter from Air Ixiom,"

"Figures,"

Erick stepped out onto the launch deck of catapult two. Far in the back, behind a barricade, engineers and technicians prepped the tube for launch. He eyed them for a second before taking off his hat and putting on his flight helmet. He pulled the visor down and stood at the edge of the platform.

A door opened in the bottom of the catapult, and there his F-4X rested, ready to launch. As it neared the midpoint of the chute, the magnets along the top caught the top of the fighter, and the old jet lifted off its wheels into the air and hovered. Erick walked around and climbed up the rope ladder hanging out of the cockpit. As he set himself in, he coiled the ladder up and threw it behind his seat. He then closed the canopy door and lifted the landing gear.

Narrowing his eyes down the launch tube, Erick prayed to that nothing would go wrong. He gripped the throttle and flight stick tightly, as if he were wringing someone's neck. He kept the fighter steady as he began to push the throttle up, stopping just under the afterburner range. The fighter went forward three inches, but otherwise stayed put.

"Sir, we have word from the Air fleet," someone from command said in his comm. "They're on an approach vector and ready to help us out. ETA is six minutes,"

"I'm guessing Thanatos is too far away?" Erick asked rhetorically. "So we have to hold them off for six minutes? Not a problem," he grinned. "I'm ready, guys,"

There was a lurch as the magnetic field began to propel Erick and his Phantom forward to the wild blue. Like the rest, he gunned afterburners about halfway, as soon as he breached Mach 1. His speedometer raised rapidly as the massive engines in the F-4 shot them quicker forward, pushing the fighter to the limits of its hull integrity. Later, Erick would claim to have seen the fighter elongate as it propelled down the catapult.

As he neared the end, Erick closed his eyes and hoped that the malfunction was fixed. He reached the end, and he began feeling something pulling his flight stick to the left. Reactively, he pulled to the right. The fighter kept steady, but it quickly became too hard to hold straight. He reached the exit bay, as he stared with wide eyes as his left wingtip came dangerously close to the wall.

His fighter screamed out the tube, shooting waves of water into the sky. Erick breathed a sigh of relief, and then looked ahead. He saw an incoming fighter, a Falcon, and pulled up hard the same time as the other pilot. Both fighters nearly scraped the bottom of their fuselage.

"Whoa, there, pilot!" he shouted into the com. "Watch what your doing!" He leveled out the fighter, and then switched to another channel. "Guys, you make me do that again and I'll kill you," he shouted into the com before closing the channel and looking for something to shoot. His eyes locked on to a Tomcat doing a flyby of the command center above ground, peppering the concrete with shells. He pushed his fighter to an intercept course and switched to his Vulcan cannon.

His course, Erick believed, would take him perpendicular to the flying Cat if it didn't turn. Given the course, he assumed it wouldn't. As the fighter neared the right side of his HUD, Erick opened fire into the air. He made a minor adjustment, and then smiled as the enemy pilot ran right into the hail of bullets, tearing the fighter to pieces and creating a big fireball. The fighter turned a sharp left and fell toward the second catapult's concrete walls. It hit, and tumbled along at over 1000 mp/h before becoming an aluminum mess that crashed into the water not far in front of C2. A half-second later, another Falcon came out, flying through the flames.

"ETA Five minutes," Command told Erick. Simultaneously, a timer appeared over his compass indicator on his HUD. "Second wave of enemy jets approaching. Looks like another group of Tomcats," Erick clicked an acknowledgement before turning his fighter in a wide arc, facing the vector where the enemy jets were coming from.

"Something's not right here…" he whispered to himself. "The first wave hasn't even retreated yet… and I haven't heard any radio chatter from them…"

* * *

Sam Deakin wasn't used to flying a Falcon. Granted, it was similar in respects to his Typhoon, but he wasn't up for flying against enemy air units. He preferred to stay back and snipe enemy ships from a good distance away, using anti-ship missiles. This wasn't the case though, as his fighter broke Mach 1.5. As he neared the end of the catapult, a fireball suddenly appeared in front of him, plunging in to the ocean.

Sam panicked and pulled up on his fighter, but all that happened was that the nose changed its facing and pointed up toward the ceiling, still being propelled by the magnets more than the afterburner. It saved his life, however, because when he exited the tunnel, his fighter immediately shot upward, narrowly missing a secondary explosion that came from the fireball.

Sam didn't know whether to scream or laugh. So instead he took a deep breath and tried to remain calm. He opened his eyes and found that he had tone on a retreating Tomcat. He grinned and fired a missile, calling out the obligatory Fox Two. As his Sidewinder blew the enemy fighter in half, another one exploded just above his canopy. Shrapnel crashed down on to his Falcon, but otherwise it remained unharmed.

"Second wave of enemy jets approaching, "Command said into his earpiece. "Looks like another group of Tomcats," Sam looked along the vector the initial Tomcats came from, but saw nothing. He looked down, and then up, and finally saw the fighters' silhouette among the clouds.

"I've got visual," he said to the others. "Coming in and scraping the clouds at Vector one-six-zero,"

"Roger that, Eagle 4," his flight leader, Cid, replied. "You got that, Curse?"

"Got it, Stargazer," Chris said into his comm. "All right, Ravens, let's move! Head at Vector 160 and begin climbing! Zero, you mind staying behind and cleaning up?"

"And let you get all the glory? I think not. Dragunov Flight, follow Fell-Raven flight and intercept the second wave! Let Air Ixiom handle the remains," Ten F-16s changed course and hit afterburners, merging into a giant flight of ten ships, all heading for 2-to-1 odds.

"Oh, yeah, and leave us to clean up the mess," Cid grumbled. "I am _not_ saving your ass if you need me, Chris!"

"Ha, like I'll need saving from someone who can barely shoot a target that sits there!"  
"Bombing is a delicate process!"

"Whatever!"

"Something's not right here…" Sam heard Erick whisper as he pulled in behind an F-14A. He armed another Sidewinder as he waited for both reticules to converge. Just as they did, the fighter suddenly pulled up and stopped in midair, leaving Sam to blow by it.

"Damn, stall turn!" he screamed, looking behind him for the enemy. He watched the Tomcat begin falling, and then catch itself to point right at Sam. The Falcon's warning indicators went crazy.

Eyes wide, Sam pushed down on the stick and up on the throttle. He felt a lurch as the Falcon responded, facing the ocean and putting enough exhaust behind him to make the short-range missile chasing him very happy. He held the stick down, even as he passed the 90-degree mark and going past Mach 1.

The missile continued chasing him, following the course his fighter took with ease… and edging ever closer.

"Damn…" Sam repeated as he leveled out upside-down. He closed his eyes and put a hand on the ejection handle, waiting for the inevitable strike. But that strike never came; instead, a flurry of Vulcan shells behind him destroyed the missile and left Sam free. "What was that?"

"It was me, Eagle 4," a female voice replied. "This is Eagle 2, covering your six… watch out next time,"

Sam fumed.

* * *

"Coming into contact with second wave!"

Fighters broke in eight directions as the enemy Tomcats – a dozen of them – burst through the defense line with guns blazing. Curse's Falcon was caught in the right wing, but it was still flyable. Others weren't so lucky. He watched as Raven 3 billowed smoke behind him, the tail fin mangled and the flap destroyed. He found Raven 5 spiraling toward the ocean, but the pilot was floating down safely behind it, white parachute flowing.

"All right, kids," he heard Erick's voice cut into his com. "Let's get this sombitch started. The Air fleet is still good three-and-a-half minutes away, so pick your targets and go!"

Curse flew in behind a Tomcat as it bobbed and weaved around other jets. He found it nearly impossible to get a missile lock, so instead he opened fire with his cannon. The first few shots missed, but the rest caught the enemy jet in the right engine, blowing the entire fighter to kingdom come. He grinned and opened a channel.

"That's five tonight, kids!" he shouted. "That's right… who's your daddy?"

"Man, five?" Erick jeered. "That's it? What are you, drunk? Watch this!"

Erick grinned and pulled up, cutting off the engines of his jet. He hit the peak of his climb, and began dropping, and opened fire with his cannon. The enemy above him was torn to shreds down the middle. "One," As he began to fall, he cut engines to minimal power and launched a Sparrow that acquired tone. He didn't even watch as the missile collided with the right side of the Tomcat. "Two," By the time his nose was pointing down to the ground, he fired his second Sparrow and cut engines to full. The dumb-fired missile went straight through the cockpit of a Tomcat and kept going to the ocean. "Three, bitch!" He crowed. "_In one sweep!_ Now who's _your_ daddy, Curse!"

"Show-off," Chris muttered to himself.

"What was that?"

"I said, 'you suck, sir!'"

"Do not make me shove a missile in your tail!"

Yukikaze ignored the chatter as he closed in on a fighter. He fired a Sidewinder, and then blew by the enemy jet. It exploded in a shower of shrapnel and flame. This was his third kill in this old fighter, and he was quite amazed with how it handled. In fact, it was quite enjoyable.

* * *

"ETA three minutes,"

Cid looked up at the straggling F-14 above him. He grinned.

"Oh, look at that," he said, opening a channel. "Do you see what I see?" He pulled up behind the aircraft. "I see an opportunity to pull a little stunt!" He boosted forward and flipped upside down. "Say cheese, buddy!" He smiled and looked straight into the enemy jet.

_But there was no one there._

"What the fu-" Cid didn't get to finish the sentence, as the Tomcat pulled straight up and into Cid's Falcon. It and the F-16 both twisted together, spinning in a straight line that was slowly starting to angle up as the combined afterburners of the fighters sped up the bulky mass of four wings and three tails into the sky.

Cid, amazingly enough, was alive. The canopies of both jets shattered upon impact; this should have killed Cid, but thanks to his helmet, it deflected almost all the Plexiglas. A small sliver of it cut across his brow, and blood trickled out of it as suddenly there was no reason to joke. The nose of the Tomcat was embedded into the nose of the Falcon, and as they passed the cloud line, Cid felt the air around him grow lighter. He needed to do something before he suffered a painful death from a giant missile crashing into the ocean.

"But first, to see what makes this plane tick," he whispered. He turned off his com and unbuckled himself from the seat. He stood up in his jet and grabbed hold of the safety harnesses in the Tomcat that dangled toward him; the other jet was that close. Grunting with exertion, he lifted himself in to the enemy jet and strapped himself in.

It looked like any other Tomcat on the inside, Cid noted. The only difference was that the radar screen was gone, replaced by a series of binary numbers. The flight stick was held in place by two robotic "arms" that connected to points under the seat. Unsure of what to do, Cid reached under and felt for something. He felt what seemed to be a handle, and pulled. Out came a motherboard-like object. He grinned.

Then the F-14/F-16 lurched downward. Both jets had reached the apex of their climb and began a quick and deadly decent to the ocean. Cid threw the board in the air in surprise, and watched with dismay as it collided with the tail, and got stuck in his jet's tail rudder.

"Oh, man" he groaned. He unstrapped himself and climbed out between the two jets, bracing him against both. He ignored the fact that he only had seconds before he felt a watery end. Instead, he braced himself and jumped straight up.

Cid nearly flew past the tail, had he not grabbed hold, breaking his arm in the process. Ignoring the pain, he reached with his free hand and grabbed the object he was killing himself for. He pulled hard, but to no avail.

The cloud line passed. Cid saw the battle below.

_Damnit,_ he thought. _First I'm stuck on cleanup duty, now I'm trying to get some stupid object while there's some weird plane-on-plane action going on. Screw you guys, I'm going home._

Cid let go and opened his chute.

* * *

"Oh, man," Sam echoed as he saw Cid pop open his parachute. He had witnessed the odd spectacle, and wondered how he survived and the other pilot had not. That wasn't what displeased him, though; it was the two Tomcats barreling down on the floating pilot. Quickly switching to his last Sidewinder, he locked on to and fired a toned shot. He didn't bother to hope it hit and switched to his vulcans. He unleashed a flurry of bullets, just enough to deter the enemy fighter.

A flash and explosion made Sam look up. The Sidewinder hit a flare. Damn. The enemy Cat opened fire at Sam, sending two missiles streaking his way. He evaded the first one, but the second caught his right wing, blowing it in half. Cursing, Sam pulled the ejector handle. The canopy popped open and his seat flew into the air. He got off of it and fell for a second, then opened his chute.

He found himself floating three feet below Cid.

"So, what brings you here?" The Air Ixiom leader asked.

"Just thought I'd drop in,"

* * *

"ETA Two minutes. Third wave of fighters on approach vector one-six-zero,"

Yukikaze watched with dismay as one by one his allies fell. The fight was quickly becoming lop-sided in the enemy's favor. Except for one, the Air Ixiom fighters weren't used to the air-to-air combat in this particular fighter. Temnota was faring better, but their fighters were barely on even footing with the faster, better-armed Tomcats… and now the Hornets that approached on radar.

A Falcon to his right exploded into flame, leaving the pilot barely enough time to eject before vaporizing. There was some retribution for the pilot, though, as a Tomcat evading another fighter ran into the fireball; the nose of the jet concaved as it hit the mass of shrapnel, creating a sphere of flame traveling at over Mach 1.2.

"MISSILE ALERT" flashed on Yukikaze's HUD. In reflex, he pulled up and right, looping around to get a bead on the fighter that shot the missile. He released two flares and came up under the fighter that fired the Sidewinder. The Falcon pilot grinned and managed to pull up behind the retreating fire. His last Sparrow demanded to fire as the two boxes converged.

"Fox 2!" Yukikaze shouted, firing his last missile at the Tomcat. A satisfying explosion followed.

"Not good!" he heard Erick yell. "Not good!" Behind him, another Falcon exploded, taking the pilot with it. The Hornets on his long-range radar had been armed with two Advanced Long-Range Missiles, and fired them with all haste. These forty missiles made mincemeat out of the remaining Temnota squadron.

He looped around a missile and ducked under another one. Above him, another Falcon met its maker as two missiles converged on its position, creating another allied fireball.

"This is very bad!" Erick shouted. "Damnit, where's the cavalry?"

"Right here, sir," a calm voice responded.

"Twenty contacts on radar," Command called. "It's the Barracuda Air fleet! All fighters, retreat back to Bronze Gate One!"

Twenty fighters lined up, each armed with long-range missiles. The first half, Sea Hydras, and the second half, Ghostriders, became one unit.

"Pick your targets," The Sea Hydra lead, Glensather, called. "There aren't too many targets left, but almost everyone will have their own target. Arm weapons," On his HUD, four different boxes touched four different targets. He waited for two seconds. "All aircraft, fire," He touched the release on his flight stick, and felt a slight lift as his heaviest missiles left their racks.

Almost 60 missiles launched at once, creating a giant, wide contrail. About halfway, the trails broke up into their separate missiles as they destroyed the enemy Hornets that had just showed up and took out the remaining Tomcats. Explosions popped up along Glensather's field of vision as the missiles met their targets.

When the smoke cleared and the Barracudas burst through, he looked up to the sky and watched the enemy.

"They're bugging out," he reported. "It looks like we came just in time, Command,"

"Yeah! Watch them run!" Ghostrider Leader yelled. "That's right, baby, run from the masters!"

The two lead F-14Ds from the air fleet pulled into a formation behind Erick.

"Forgive me for not being faster," Glensather said. "But we are quite some distance. Many of us are running on fumes from afterburner use,"

"Land at Bronze Gate One," Erick ordered. "Get ready for a debriefing… and prepare for a casualty report,"

"Roger that,"

Of the original twenty-one fighters that launched, only seven returned. Most pilots suffered minor casualties… but four pilots would never fly in the wild blue again.

* * *

**Bronze Gate One (Damaged, Under Construction) – March 12th, 2007 – 1200 Hours**

"Confirmed," the leader of the Bridge Crew responded. "We have you on visual, Cessna 1. Follow the indicators to Runway 3,"

The small Cessna aligned itself perfectly with the runway. The pilot began the normal landing procedures, as per normal, when he saw a small glint to his right, then to his left. Two fighters, both F-16s, pulled up to either side of the passenger plane.

"Cessna 1, this is Watchdog unit," one of the pilots claimed. "We'll be watching your flight in and out, so don't do anything stupid,"

"Watchdogs, this is Cessna 1, roger," the passenger pilot responded. "It's nice to have an escort," he cut off the com and looked at his only passenger. "The security is a bit different," he told her. "They didn't have fighters last week. I think something must have happened,"

"I think they were attacked," replied the girl. "Look at the sides of the base; there are burns everywhere. These guys were attacked, and hard," She adjusted her skirt. "I hope they have a plane for me,"

"You're really thinking about joining these flyboys?" asked the pilot. "They'll tear you apart,"

"I know," the girl said, this time running a brush through her hair. "But I'll stick it out. It won't be the first time people have jeered a young girl for being a flyer," she grinned. "But I have heard that there's a woman among them, so it can't be that bad,"

The rear wheels touched down, then the forward wheel. There was a minor lurch as the jet began to slow, but it was no problem to the pilot and the girl. It traveled down the runway to a nearby hangar, and turned into it slowly. There a single person waited, holding onto his hat as the turbines slowed to a stop.

"Good luck, girl," the pilot said, opening the door to his right with the touch of a button.

Rena Davenport stepped out to the concrete floor of the hangar. She looked at Erick, who grinned and nodded. She bowed to him, and then looked him in the eye.

"Welcome to the Freelance Alliance, Rena," he said nonchalantly. "It's nice to see you finally made it…"

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir," she replied. Erick gritted his teeth, but said nothing. "My sister said I would enjoy it here,"

"You will, trust me," Erick told her. "Now come, there are a few things you need to see to get acquainted,"

As the two left the hangar and entered the main complex, Erick looked back at the lone soldier in the hangar. The man nodded, and then went into the Cessna. He pointed his silenced M-16 at the nice old pilot and shot him in the head.

_Damn, I hate necessity,_ he thought to himself. _But it's important… too important, this time._ He looked at the girl as she calmly looked about the hall, reading the various postings to the hangar crew on a bulletin board before smiling at Erick.

_You are more important than you realize._


	2. Thanatos

Like shadows, the birds hugged the ground, going faster than the speed of sound. Their black-on-black shade mingled with the darkness of the night, and only the presence of the full moon revealed the golden hue of their canopies. At an unspoken command, two missile racks on the undersides of the fighters opened up, and two Mavericks came out of each one. They primed and fired their thrusters, speeding off to the targets ahead. Each went out in a satisfying thump, but even those sounds seemed muffled.

Silently, the three birds of prey turned and returned to base, still undetected by radar. But the enemy would be here shortly, so they had to make haste. Each pilot pushed the engines to just under the afterburner point, so they wouldn't leave large heat signatures in their wake. The ground below matched the sky above, and one move would mean instant death. This was irrelevant, however, to these birds. The three Raptors, the three _Ghosts_, had completed their mission.

Thanatos had struck again.

---

**Freelance Alliance: The Sky's Angels**

**Chapter: 03**

"**Thanatos"**

**Caelum Umbra (Heaven's Shadow) AFB – March 25th, 2007 – 0300 hours**

---

March had passed with no further incident. The fighters for Bronze Gate One had been built, and they had been conducting defense maneuvers and recon runs to find the location of the enemy forces' forward base, but to no avail. The Ysgard Battle Fleet had been in a few skirmishes themselves, but so far there had been no losses. Their intelligence ship had intercepted a few burst transmissions, and had determined that the enemy had forces in Southern Usea, Osea, and even as far south as Antarctica. Also, they had encountered Patrol Ships, and figured that maybe they were finally on the trail of the Navy.

Thanatos, the stealth squadron of the Freelancers, had had the best luck. They had found an enemy forward base about five days ago, and had launched a few attacks on it. However, the air-defense grid surrounding "Base Alpha", as they called it, was pretty strong, and they had to limit themselves to flying fast and low and in flights of three. Word from Erick was that ISAF (Independent State Allied Forces) was going to lend some support, as they had a base nearby.

Joseph Burns, leader of Thanatos flight "Ghosts" and commander of the base overall, had yet to see these flights. Instead, he and his team of pilots had been hard at work on a generously provided spare Raptor. At first, they thought about cannibalizing it for parts, but when Joseph mentioned something about his fighter not responding as fast as he'd like, the rest of his flight got an idea: they were going to illegally modify one of the spare Raptors to accustom the skill of their flight leader. Dubbed the "F/A-22JB Variant", they spent their off-time working on the fighter.

The leader of this project wasn't a Ghost pilot, but in fact one Juan Septiano, a young pilot from Anea. He had looked up to Joseph since he came about six months ago, and the two had formed something of a friendship. He had yet to see flight, as his fighter wasn't here, but the ISAF government said that they had something special coming up for the young pilot, who showed great promise in the AAF (Anean Air Force) military university. It would come, they said, when the "back-up" came.

Juan was in fact awake when the last of the Raptors landed. The Raptor belonged to Second Lieutenant Nayden Kilpatrick. Nayden was probably the most social and vibrant in all of Thanatos squadron, and since the skirmish at Bronze Gate One, Joseph had sent the young pilot in his place. He had shown up about two months ago, and hadn't even known what he was supposed to be doing. But he was an excellent pilot, and he knew the ins and outs of a Raptor like the back on his hand. When the team reworking the spare Raptor needed help with some of the black box parts for it, they always asked Nayden, and he would always know.

The last Raptor pulled into her hangar, and the wingtip lights shut off. Another night of attack runs had ended with no loss for Thanatos, but probably no real loss for the well-organized enemy as well. Juan put his pen down and reached on to his lap for his Walkman. He shut off Mozart with a press of a button, and took off his earphones. He placed both objects under his bunk and turned out the light.

---

**Caelum Umbra – March 25th, 2007 – 0700 Hours**

There were a total of about 10 pilots in Thanatos, many of which were still rotating in from other units. Most of the pilots that sat in the small briefing room that served both flights had only five pilots, Ghost Flight. They were Thanatos' only active flight right now, as the Spectre wing hadn't been completed yet. Also, one of the pilots for the Ghosts, Juan, was without a fighter. On top of that, most of the crew that was supposed to be working on the fighters and running the base in general was nowhere to be found. Worst of all, the command staff had died in a plane crash, leaving Joseph to run the base.

So it could be easily said that Thanatos was understaffed, under armed, under financed, and generally at a third of the strength it should be. However, despite this, the squadron had pulled off about seven sorties with no loss of life. Their night raids had been getting progressively tougher at the enemy's forward base, far to the south of the region near the original Ice Creek base Mobius 1 defended during the Continental War.

How the enemy came upon the base and took it over was currently one of the bigger mysteries facing the Freelance Alliance, and especially Joseph. Erick had given him orders to destroy the base, but the night raids didn't work well. They needed more men, more supplies, and more time. They had none of it. He was working under pressure to fix a problem that shouldn't need to be fixed.

But who was this enemy? Since the fight at Bronze Gate One, there had been no assaults on the FA bases. The only ones to see action was the rookie Navy they had. The enemy had a large, expansive naval force of some fifty ships. Their fighters consisted of mostly Tomcats and Hornets, but Glen had reported seeing a fleeing squadron of Joint Strike Fighters. Unlike the assault on Bronze Gate One, these fighters were manned, and they fought really well. Though Barracuda had not experienced many casualties, they had lost every fight so far.

More disturbing, reports from Barracuda fighters marked everything from Osean to Erusan, Belkan to Anean ships. The enemy forces seemed to buy things from everywhere, but the question was still who they were.

Joseph walked into the briefing room and walked up to the podium, a stack of papers in hand. It listed the last known locations of the enemy navy. As they had no name, Erick had listed the navy the unoriginal "Alpha" fleet. Looking over the papers another time, the Thanatos leader frowned at the navy's last location: About two-hundred miles west of Caelum Umbra. It looked like they were planning an air strike.

"All right, Ghosts," he said to the attending five pilots. "I have some good news and bad news. Since I don't like to play around, we'll cut to the bad news," he reached under and clicked the mouse, bringing up a slide of their base via satellite imagery. "This is us," he clicked again, and the slide moved to the west slightly. "This is the location of fifty enemy ships, ranging from patrol ships to super-carriers. Our objective is to attack and do as much damage to the fleet in as little time as possible. This would be suicide for anyone but us, guys, but it will still be incredibly tough,"

"Our primary objective," he continued to the attentive pilots as he clicked to the next slide, showing a zoomed-in version of the enemy fleet, with the five ships in the middle. "…will be these five carriers. Our secondary objective will be the Arliegh-Burke AEGIS Cruisers and Battleships, and everything else is purely for the kills. We'll split ourselves in to two halves, Splinter Thrace and Splinter Rhegium. One Splinter will have their fighters overloaded with anti-air weaponry, and consist of Mas and Crystal; the other will be me, Freespace, and Viper, loaded with anti-ship missiles… and in my case, something special. Any questions?"

"Yes, sir," Juan spoke up. "I don't have a fighter. What am I going to do, sir, grow wings and fly?"

"Actually, no," Joseph replied, shuffling some papers. "Your fighter came in this morning when everyone was asleep. You probably don't know what it is, but I do… and let's just say you'll all be pleasantly surprised when you see it,"  
"Sir, what's so 'special' about your fighter?" Nayden asked, curious. Joseph sighed, and put the papers under his desk.

"Thanatos, as you know, guys, is the ultimate in special operations. Eventually, we'll be outfitted with the best equipment, and the best pilots. This morning I found one of the reasons we're so under financed… loaded on to my fighter is a single Midgar,"

The room fell silent. The Midgar was the ultimate in weaponry; a range of a thousand miles or more, speeds of up to Mach 4, the maneuverability of a Sidewinder, and it could be launched from a fighter… delivering it's hydrogen-fueled nuclear payload right into the heart of the enemy. Of all Usea's inventions, this one was probably the most terrible. They had been working on the prototypes the day Mobius 1 destroyed Megalith, finishing it in secret two months later. Now, there were nine of these terrible weapons built, each with a demonic name.

"…which one is it?" Nayden inquired, shaken at the thought of the weapon.

"Levistus," replied Joseph. "The Ice Prince," Nayden nodded and looked away. "Dismissed… we'll begin the operation when the sun goes down,"

---

**Caelum Umbra – March 25th, 2007 – 1300 hours** – **Hangar 8**

Juan stood at the open hangar door, gaping at the giant box that held his fighter. It arrived via boat, and the sailors on board had been loath to speak of what was in it. It was probably the experimental new fighter, the YF-23, like Viper had, but it wasn't what "Crystal" wanted. It wouldn't matter in the long run, when he was either dead of captured, he reasoned, but what the hell.

Nayden stood on top of the box with the other pilots, armed with nothing more than a simple crowbar. It had taken them since 9:30 in the morning to begin prying out the nails, but it was finally done. All they had to do was unseal the "Hushed Casket", as Nayden jokingly called it.

"All right kids, here we go!" he shouted, shoving the crowbar between the side and top of the box. The other two pilots did the same, and began pulling on it hard. Juan backed away from the box as the Thanatos pilots struggled against the box's refusal to move, giving it every ounce of strength they had. Slowly, surely, the top of the box began to give, allowing them enough room to fit an overhead crane arm in to. They jumped off and let the machine do its work, joining Juan at the front to witness the new fighter.

The crane pulled, and easily pulled the crate's side off. An avalanche of moth balls followed, covering the three Ghosts in them. They fought against the wave and looked up with expectation… then disappointment. Despite all the moth balls, the fighter was still mostly covered, showing only the cockpit and front. It resembled a Black Widow's (YF-23A) face, but sleeker and longer. The nose was more curved, as well.

Curious, Juan walked up to the side and grabbed on to the rope ladder hanging from the side. He scurried up it, and opened the canopy. He slid himself in and closed the canopy, sealing himself inside.

The controls were certainly more different than anything he had ever seen. The flight stick was situated more to the right than the center, sitting on a black box with a few screws attached. It resembled a video game controller more than an actual flight stick, but he ignored it. His left hand rested on a bar that started green and moved to orange, then red. He lifted his hand and saw that it was a throttle indicator, but no stick was in sight. In front of him, there were five or six large blank screens, revealing nothing about the fighter.

He sat there, confused for a few seconds. He looked around the cockpit before finding an object resembling a memory stick hanging off of the seat. He grabbed it and stared at it, but couldn't make anything out. He looked around for a few seconds more before finding a slot for it, and inserted it gently.

Instantly, the fighter came to life. The dash lit up with a red/orange glow. The stick to his right moved by itself for a second and to his left the throttle lights jumped up and down before resting at "IDLE". The dash in front read in binary for about five seconds before coming up with digitized versions of all the familiar gauges he had grown to memorize, albeit in slightly different positions.

He looked ahead just as his HUD projected a screen. It read:

**EASA**

**Project W**

**Model: X00000-000THA**

_So this is an EASA ship?_ Juan thought to himself. _Not surprising, I guess; only they could come up with something this confusing._ He checked his fuel gauge to be "0", but his battery gauge read 100. It was a hybrid engine running behind, which worried him slightly. Nonetheless, he wanted to get this stupid thing out of the box, so he looked for some way to go. He looked for a throttle stick in vain before just shouting "Go, already!"

The fighter throttle suddenly read 25. There was a brief whirr, then a lurch forward out of the box. He watched his friends scurry out of the way before he regained his head and pushed right on the flap pedal hard before realizing that it wasn't there.

"What the hell!" he shouted. He grabbed the flight stick and twisted right, like one would do on a PC controller. The fighter responded and turned right quickly, narrowly avoiding the grass. The autopilot suddenly kicked in and began to taxi itself to the runway.

"Wait, stop!" he yelled at the fighter. "It's not time for launch yet!" As he finished speaking, the throttle dropped to "IDLE", and the fighter stopped moving. "Now, that's better," Juan said before reaching down for the key and pulling. Of course, the fighter wouldn't let go. "Umm… shut down?" The fighter let go and then shut off, even opening the canopy for him.

Grumbling, Juan put the key around his neck before throwing the rope ladder out and climbing down. He left the fighter there and walked back over to his friends, who were gaping.

"Sorry about that, guys," he apologized. "But my fighter literally got away from me… what?"

"Dude, didn't you notice your bird?" Nayden asked, not even looking at the young pilot. "Look at it!" Looking at Nayden dubiously, he turned around and walked to his fighter… then stopped midway. He saw the butterfly tail, the sleek shape of his jet, and more noticeably… he recognized the wingspan. There was no one else with this kind of fighter, save one, and that guy was the hero of Usea.

"There's no way…" Juan whispered as he ran up to it, touching one of the V-shaped wings. "This has to be a mistake," he climbed up the rope ladder, than jumped to the top of the fuselage, touching the raven-colored metal of the fighter. He stood and looked down at the jet as if he were walking on water.

It was definitely a Wyvern.

Juan jumped in the air and screamed gleefully.

---

It this land, the sun always set early, and by seven p.m. it was dark as pitch. The five pilots had assembled in their fighters on the runway. In their lead, Joseph or "Darkside" had begun the taxi to the runway. Behind him, his team was talking amongst themselves.

"I can't believe it," Nayden was saying. "Out of everyone, Crystal gets a Wyvern!" He laughed.

"I don't understand why me, though," Juan said. "I'm not that great a pilot. Besides, I'm still not completely sure of how to fly this thing," Juan had spent the rest of the day reading the built-in tutorial in the Wyvern's databanks and practicing some very basic maneuvers in the air. He had acquired a good grasp of the voice commands in the jet, but flying the thing himself was a serious challenge.

"It doesn't matter," Freespace interjected. "The fact is that you now have this bird, and we'll need you at your best, whatever that may be,"

"Yeah, but still…" Juan began.

"Don't worry, man," Nayden interrupted. "You'll be alright. Even if that is a well-built bird, I can fly circles around you, alright? Just follow my lead when we're in the air,"

"…yes, sir,"

Joseph took off, followed shortly by Freespace. Viper and Nayden launched at about the same time, leaving Juan alone on the ground. The pilot ignored his sweaty palms as he gripped the flight control, then let go. _I can do this._ He thought.

"Begin launch sequence," he commanded, and the fighter took over. In seconds, he was in the air and in formation with the others. He grabbed the control stick and kept the fighter in position as the squadron sped up. He heard a whirring noise as the fighter's wings tucked into themselves and the butterfly tails flattened. He took a deep breath, and focused only on the green HUD.

"Activate NVS," the HUD flashed briefly, then faded out completely as the cockpit took a gray hue. He could suddenly see very well in the dark, and thanked EASA for the gift. The HUD slowly reappeared in a sharper green tint, giving the pilot more ease. He started to relax when Joseph opened a squadron comm.

"Listen up, pilots," he said. He voice had changed; it was cold, stone, unfeeling. "We're going in fast and low, just like usual. We're about ten minutes away from the enemy fleet, so we're going to hit them hard. I reconfigured the AA fighters a bit and gave you two Mavericks sitting just under the wings. This will give you some ground firepower, which you should use on this initial run. Darkside out,"

Instantly, the lead F/A-22 began to dive. The other fighters followed easily, though with such a strong ability to turn Juan had to be more careful than the rest. He set the throttle to 80, and easily kept pace with the others. Juan felt his pulse quicken; it would be his first true sortie, in one of the most advanced fighters in the whole of Erusea! Why did he get it? _It must be a mistake_. He reasoned. _But I sure as hell am not complaining._ He grinned as the fighters leveled out only hundreds of feet below the ground, the adrenaline in his body pumping through his veins as he saw the tops of evergreens pass just under his fuselage.

"So," Nayden suddenly began. "How about after we take out this Navy we go home and play Pong?" There was silence on the radio for a brief time. "Anyone? Oh, come on, you can't say that you don't like Pong, guys. Everyone likes Pong,"

"Hush," Freespace ordered. "There's no room for a conversation like this, Mas. This is more opposition than what we ever faced before, and we have a newbie flying with us,"

"…you're right, of course," Nayden relented. "I'll shut up. But I won't like it,"

"You never do,"

Juan heard the click of a com shutting off. Looking ahead, he saw only the dark of night, the soft glow of the HUD and dash, and the horizon loomed ever farther away. Juan closed his eyes and let the autopilot handle the flying as he leaned back and closed his eyes, knowing that this moment of peace would not last. He subconsciously prepared for the fight at hand; the obligation to kill his fellow man indirectly with missile fire.

Little did he know, the other pilots were doing much the same. Nayden shut off the lights in his Raptor and closed his eyes, falling asleep instantly. Joseph crossed himself and began praying, to both God and his son for strength to get through this fight. Freespace imagined his attack runs in the fight, preparing for them accordingly.

Silence fell over the Ghosts as they assumed their silent form. It was this point that the flight called their "Ethereal Jaunt". From this point on, their actions would speak for them until the fight was over. It was how it was for Thanatos; they were so in tune with each other that they didn't have to speak to each other. They felt another's presence. They felt Juan's anticipation, Nayden's apathy, Freespace's vigilance, and Joseph's dark, dark hope.

Thanatos became the Ghosts. And the Ghosts were out for blood.

---

**Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean – 2100 hours – "Alpha" Fleet**

The technician sitting at the radar/sonar screen was falling asleep. His shift would be over in half an hour, thankfully, so he just had to stare as yet another pod of whales passed by one of the battleships. Apparently Humpbacks were more common than what people originally believed.

Suddenly, a blip appeared on his sonar. Just as suddenly, it was gone. The tech figured it to be a glitch, and ignored it. But then there were five blips, this time about half the distance of the sonar from his little patrol ship. But then it was gone again. The young technician was seriously debating on whether telling his captain. It was just a glitch, he presumed after a while; nothing to be worried about.

Just then, an explosion was heard from port. The tech looked up from his post, then stood up with the rest of the crew and ran up to see what had happened. As he reached the window, he saw the flames reflect in the water, and he knew something bad had happened. He couldn't figure it out, though, until he saw the burning battleship. There was no missile alert, no radar blip, nothing… but there was the battleship, burning brightly in the night. The tech widened his eyes as he finally realized what he had seen.

Just as he did, a silhouette's silhouette appeared in front of him. There were three pinpoints of light, then blackness again. The tech wondered briefly before a Vulcan shell the size of his forearm pierced his head. He didn't get to see as the tiny patrol ship became a hulking wreck.

-

Meanwhile, the Admiral of the fleet on board the primary carrier had just witnessed five of his ships destroyed without so much as a muzzle flash or a missile contrail. He knew it would be difficult for his pilots to see, but something had to be done.

"Launch all fighters," he ordered. "Fight these Raptors, and kill them," He looked at his right-hand man as he nodded and began giving the orders. He looked outside as he saw a group of three cruisers panic, turning and firing wildly into the sky. Against the cannon fire, the admiral thought he made out a single fighter and the nose of two more before they disappeared. Half a second later, one of the cruisers exploded, cut in two. Another second passed, and a patrol ship within the reason of a jet's turning arc popped like a balloon.

The Admiral narrowed his eyes as another cruiser went down, again like nothing really happened. At the same time, he saw one of his prized Tomcats go into the sky. He smiled as the fighter headed for the source of all the death; but then, the Admiral saw the fighter trail smoke and crash into the ocean. He didn't even hear the scream of jet engines as the jet disappeared, but he thought he saw a shadow against the moon.

Somewhere in the man's mind, he knew that he wouldn't live to see the end of this fight. These pilots knew their jets well; so well as to conceal three jets as just one brief blip on radar. He looked ahead at the flames, and then watched with curiosity as the gun crews and engineers on deck began firing wildly into the sky, as if in a panic.

He knew then that his time was already up. He wanted to face his death with dignity, though, and walked up to the front of the tower, looking out the window at the sky. He saw the three fighters suddenly, clear as day, as they came in for an attack run on his fighter. He watched the three open their bomb bays and drop three tiny bombs. Two of the bombs landed on deck, and the third ran into the tower, just under the bridge.

The Admiral looked up to the moon.

There was an explosion.

-

The Ghosts were invisible to man. As the lead one led the other two around, gun crews saw bullets pass through them. Missiles couldn't lock on to the Ghosts as they made their way around the fleet.

The Ghosts seemed incorporeal as they destroyed the first carrier. Flames erupted from the deck below, but none found their mark as the birds passed by unharmed. They circled back and opened quick bursts of fire on a battleship, muffled by their own etherealness. The crew of the ship didn't see where the gunfire came from, nor did they hear it, before the separate guns and the bridge slid into the water, cut down by laser-precise gunfire.

Higher in the air, two more ghosts seemed to act as a single Reaper, cutting down the fighters before many even got off the carrier. There were still enemy birds in the sky, though, but it didn't take long for these to see a flash before their eyes as their jets because hulking scraps of metal.

It was a slaughter. The Ghosts near the water seemed to pass under the water and through the enemy ships as they cut down the carrier escort with only guns. The ones in the air used acts of deception to feint enemy movements, sometimes destroying two or three birds in one run. At one point, a pilot made out the shape of a Wyvern against the moon, unfurling her wings, before it seemed to pass through him, causing him to panic and lose control of his jet, stalling it and plummeting into the deck of the very carrier he launched from.

The water spirits took this opportunity quickly. They passed through the first destroyed carrier and came up behind the second. They opened their doors, and three missiles slipped out. There wasn't even a vapor trail as the missiles flew to three separate points on the carrier. There was an explosion as the carrier was destroyed, a bright ball of orange flame forming a miniature sun for almost a full three seconds.

The Ghosts passed through the flame harmlessly, it seemed, and headed for a single unfortunate battleship. The crew had enough time to scream before feeling the pilots' wrath.

-

Juan wasn't… himself. Something had taken control of him. He could see the ships without the help of Night Vision, Radar, or HUD; in fact, he turned them all off. He could hear the commands from his fellow pilots, though they spoke no word. He could duck, weave, and turn with nary a thought, when before he had the most difficulty in controlling his Wyvern. It was something… unnatural. Juan did not know, nor did he think about any of it; his only thoughts were on the enemy pilots in the air… he thought about how he would kill the next one.

Their fear… he could smell their fear. It was a putrid stench, one that was the equivalent of a man wetting himself. He could taste the engine fumes as he pulled up behind one and shot a small burst of shells into the cockpit. As he pulled up into the sky, he turned impossibly tight, tighter than a human body should be able to pull off.

He pulled up, and felt the moon to his back. His fighter slowed, and his wings flared. He bore down on an unfortunate Tomcat, passing by it – or was it through it? Juan did not seem to know, notice, or care. As the enemy pilot panicked and fell into the ocean, it was just another kill. He was the Grim Reaper. Better yet, he was a God. There was nothing he could not do in his Wyvern.

He fired three bursts almost aimlessly, but each one hit the Hornet that used the smoke to hide. It crashed into the burning deck of the first carrier.

Juan then laughed; it was an evil laugh, and it sent chills up every enemy spine.

-

To the enemy, the Devil was in the sky. It took the form of a great five-headed Dragon, and it rained fire down upon their hapless ships. The smoke from their ships filled the heavens above as the devil did his dirty work, killing man and destroying machine. Five black-on-black silhouettes streaked about, never giving any quarter, never giving an echo. At one point, all eyes turned up to see, through the smoke, birds of prey.

These were not the birds they were used to. They saw the familiar black shapes of stealth aircraft. Their shades matched the night sky, and they were coming down hard. A pilot screamed as they shot by him, their combined momentum tearing his fighter apart. Before he died, he saw the fighters clearly for what they were: black birds, smeared with red blood; the blood of his comrades and countless other men the pilot knew had to have been his allies. Then the Wyvern's right wing cut into him, tearing him in half at the chest. He felt no more as his body tumbled to the ocean below. The Wyvern, its wing streaked with blackened blood, flew on like it was nothing.

The fighters turned, and bore down on its last target; the only surviving carrier. The crew on board looked up, but didn't see the five Ghosts coming towards them. However, they felt the presence of pure bloodlust, and screamed. They didn't even fire their weapons as their deaths awaited them.

Guns opened fire and missiles streaked silently toward the final target. Crew on the deck ran to and fro, but with nowhere to go, they only died. One crewman witnessed five of his best friends become paste before he felt a shell enter the top of his head. Another one managed to get out of the way of a missile blast, only to be killed when a piece of shrapnel hit him, severing his head from the rest of his body. He watched his own headless body fall to the ground before the bridge – crew inside still alive – fell into pieces on top of countless men.

Some men got the bright idea to jump into the water. However, the Reaper waited for them there, too. As if attracted by the massacre, countless sharks had come to join in. One man jumped right into a Great White's gaping maw, screaming as he realized his fate. Another managed to swim for a piece of floating metal before two sharks came from behind, each grabbing a leg and pulling him under, tearing him to shreds.

In the sky, seagulls, streaked with oil, flew away, panicked. Soon after, five black Ghosts flew off, toward the east. The moon, waning in the sky, became obscured by black smoke.

-

**Caelum Umbra – 0750 hours – March 26th, 2007**

Juan walked into the mess hall, dazed. His fellow pilots had come already, and were sitting in separate spots, eating the mush they called breakfast. He wanted to talk about the night before, but couldn't fight the heart to sit with any of the others or finds the words to describe his feelings. He simply grabbed a bowl of mush and sat away from everyone.

He stared at his hands, palms up, and contemplated the night before. It was as if he were watching a movie; a terrible, horrible, bloody movie. _Was that really me?_ He asked himself. _How could I have -_

His thoughts were interrupted as the PA came on.

"Attention, Thanatos pilots. We have three contacts coming in, asking for clearance. It appears that they're from the Navy, Joseph,"

Joseph stood up and walked away from the room. He went past Juan, who once again became lost in thought. He made the short distance to the front door, and walked out into the frigid morning sky.

He walked to the runway and watched three jets come in. The first two were Tomcats; like any other Navy flier, they hit the runway hard, being accustomed to landing on short carrier decks than long runways. The third jet he saw was a rare one in the Freelance Alliance; a Rafale B. In fact, there were only two or three pilots that had one.

Looking closer, Joseph noticed something unsettling about the jets. The lead Tomcat was scorched black with burns in many places, and its wings had been clipped slightly, with uneven holes in both the swing wings. The second, when it landed, suddenly buckled, and the front wheels folded in on themselves. The nose of the Tomcat nearly hit the ground as it streaked to the end of the runway, sparks streaking every which way. The last jet, the Rafale, was in the worst shape Joseph had ever seen: The tail was just _gone_, and in its place was a black mark. The engine kept sputtering and quitting as the pilot landed, and the brakes wouldn't even come up. The landing gear came out halfway, and the Rafale made a clumsy landing the rest of the way. Then Joseph noticed that the left wing was cut in half jaggedly by either a missile or gunfire.

The lead Tomcat taxied to a spot not far from the Thanatos leader. Crew quickly pulled a step ladder up and opened the canopy. A figure with long hair stepped out and quickly leaped down the ladder, yelling at the crew to run, also. Dumbstruck, they complied, and seconds later, the Tomcat erupted into flame.

Suddenly very uncertain about the status of the Navy, he walked up to the pilot, who was bent over farther away from his jet, his long hair covering his face.

"Glen?" he asked, and the Navy lead looked up slowly. "What happened to your jet?" Glen only looked at the older man for a long time, gray eyes staring deep into his. "Are you okay? What about the Navy?"

Glen's eyes flashed for a second, and then he stood, a resigned look on his face. Joseph knew from the look that something bad had gone down…

"The Navy…" Glen whispered, his voice coming out more as a break than anything else. "The Navy… has been destroyed,"

**To Be Continued…**

"**Next: Chapter 04 – Slaying of the Hydra"**


	3. Slaying of the Hydra

The storage room known as Hangar E was mostly unoccupied. Two jets – a Rafale B and an F-14D – were both severely damaged and resting in the large hangar; what was left of them, at least. Smoke still smoldered from the Tomcat, even in rest, and it was unlikely that it could be repaired. They were going to use parts from the first Tomcat to repair it, but the wreckage of that one was still being cleaned up, having exploded into flames shortly after landing at the base.

Inside the Hangar, a small break room was off to the side. The buzzing noise of the soda machine would have been irritating to someone, had they been exposed to it, but it was not the case for the room's sole occupant. The young man sat, head bowed, eyes narrowed at nothing but the table underneath his arms as they rested on it. He said nothing, nor did he move; he barely even breathed. Instead, he sat; arms folded on a table, and stared into the nothingness.

The opening and shutting of a door did not stir the young man, nor did the sound of walking. Joseph Burns, leader of Thanatos squadron, looked sympathetically at the pilot before walking over to the coffee machine and pouring two cups of the hot liquid. He sat across from the pilot, setting both cups on the table. The pilot, Glen, reached out and took one reflexively, then resumed his original position, but instead stared into the cup.

There was silence for quite a few minutes. Joseph sat, unperturbed by the silence, and watched the pilot as he simply stared blankly into the cup. Finally, though, he had to speak.

"Glen," he said quietly, almost whispering. "Tell me what happened. How was the Navy destroyed?"

Again, there was silence. Just as Joseph was about to ask again, however, Glen spoke.

"It was two days ago," he whispered. "It's best to start from before the attack, I guess,"

"I was bringing in a flight of three from evening patrols…"

---

**Freelance Alliance: The Sky's Angels**

**Chapter: 04**

**Slaying of the Hydra**

**Ysgard Battle Fleet – March 24th, 2007 – 0750 hours**

**---**

The morning sun shone brightly upon the Battle Fleet. Unhindered by clouds or terrain, the morning shift had a clear view of the orange sky above them as they stepped out on to deck. As they began preparing the next set of fighters for the morning, we were already coming in from our regular nightly patrols; That is, my evening flight.

Since the attack on Bronze Gate One, we in the Navy had become the first line of defense for the Alliance. Unlike your Thanatos, who acted as an aggressor squadron, the style of fighting that the Sea Hydras and Ghostriders – the dual flights of our navy – involved defensive fighting, staying far out in the areas where the initial attack was rumored to have come from. Recently, however, a series of skirmishes was leading us northward, toward what we considered "your" territory.

The fights themselves were really nothing, and the only damages on either side were the occasional loss of a patrol boat. The primary fleet, "Alpha", as we had begun to call it, consisted of mostly faster ships, and so had pulled away from our fleet. We put a call out to Erick, to warn you and to launch an attack, but we wouldn't know until tomorrow whether or not you would take the call and head for battle.

Loki, the single intelligence ship of the Navy, had meanwhile picked up on another fleet of ships. Dubbed "Beta" Fleet, they were on a direct intercept course from the Osea side of the Atlantic Ocean, though their original location was unknown. Loki had reported that this new fleet was using a prototype carrier called "Nirvana", though no more information was known. Escorting these ten or twelve carriers were about thirty AEGIS ships, or so the intelligence claimed.

The situation, by all means, looked grim. If the Alpha fleet turned, and joined with the Beta fleet to attack us, then there would be little hope of survival. Not only would the navy have to turn tail and run, but the potentially fifty-plus jets following them would leave nothing left. This is why the leaders of the Navy's dual flights, me and… Cody, had agreed to put both wings of the navy into a state of constant readiness. This, plus training every day possible, would hopefully prepare us for the inevitable conflict.

The three fighters that were coming in were simple rookies themselves save for the pilot they were following, me. I had been using the night environment to practice flying low without fear, for things like attack runs and missile evasion. We practiced the entire night in both the original F-14A Tomcat and the F-14E Anti-Ship Bombcat, a variant created specifically for our use. They had also practiced in the F/A-18C and E, though none of us were particularly fond of it, as we had never flown a Hornet.

As the second Tomcat landed on deck, I took one last run around before finally coming in. I noted the positions of the ships that composed what I considered my navy; the Battleships were on the outer edge of a phalanx formation, with the two AEGIS ships sitting closer to the center of the wall. The four Destroyers were composed the majority of the wall, linking the two ends together. Arranged in a loose formation in the back were the four cruisers, spread to provide heavy anti-air fire.

Having looked at the fleet from a high-up perspective, I turned the jet about and landed on the carrier…

---

Glen stopped talking, looking behind Joseph instead. Curious, Joseph glanced behind him to see another young pilot, looking solemnly at the Tomcat. Glen winced, a flash of sadness across his eyes, before looking back at Joseph.

"Who's that?" asked the Thanatos leader.

"That is Lieutenant Anderson, one of the best pilots I've ever seen… not that it matters much now," Glen replied. "He was the one who saw the enemy fleet in action for the first time, though what he saw paled in comparison to what we saw…" Glen stopped again, fighting back emotion, before continuing. "He's a good boy, and I know a little about him…"

---

As I landed, the next three jets took off. The lead jet was a young prodigy named Fredrick Clifford Jonathan Anderson IV, or "Viper" by his callsign. A rookie who had done nothing with flying before he graduated high school, Jonathan had taken a few rudimentary courses in avionics in college, attending the prestigious North Point Naval Academy with the dream of becoming a fleet captain, maybe even Admiral. Avionics was more of a side interest he had during his Academy days, but he never really thought about flying a jet for a life career.

Then the ISAF/Erusan war took a turn for the worse. Jonathan, having not completed enough courses to become a ship captain, was thrown into a Tomcat and told to "fly fast, shoot fast". His first true sortie was at the Comona Islands, flying alongside Mobius 1, and even witnessing the brave pilot's raw skill when he managed to get one of Yellow Squadron's fighters to trail smoke, a feat not done easily.

From then on, Jonathan fell in love with jets. He flew the entirety of the war, and when it was time for Erusea to surrender during the Siege of Farbanti, he survived the entire mission and scored his all-time high of seven kills in a single mission. Of course, Mobius 1 in the then unique X-02 got some seventy kills or so, but in an outdated F-14A it was quite a feat.

Now, in this F-14D, "Viper" had become an ace pilot. He was a Lieutenant in the FA, now, second in command of the Ghostriders. He had impressed me with being able to flare successfully so close to the water without panicking, a maneuver considered to risky by the rookies of the air fleet. He thought about this as he led the two fighters around the front of the naval fleet, watching them as they flew low and close to the front bows of the cumbersome ships. These ships were some of the finest of the Erusan Navy, and a couple of the ships had once been a part of the legendary Aegir fleet. The carriers, both of which had escaped destruction during the Siege of Farbanti, contained the entire original crew, who had received pardon after the war's end.

Viper remembered that at least then he knew who the enemy was. After almost a month of fighting, we still had no clue – just as we don't now - just to who was fighting us. There were many speculations: one was that a band of rebel factions from across the world had joined together. Another, slightly more feasible idea, was that large corporations had been banding together, fighting to rid the continent of Erusea of its government and establish one ruled by merchants. Recently, many of the world's larger companies, like "Grunder" Industries, the source of Osea's military equipment, had expressed discontent in the way the reformation of Usea's government was going. Also, inflation and prices of the world market had sent many companies into dismay and confusion.

Viper stopped thinking about the past and current events, and instead focused on his flying. Life was so much easier when there was nothing to do but fly. He focused on the sky above, pulling his flight of rookies up toward the clouds, then to the northwest. Today's mission was different: They were in fact a scouting force to see just how close the "Beta" Fleet was to meeting our fleet. I had a good guess that sometime within the next couple of days, if not sooner, would the enemy complete their interception and a full-scale air and sea battle would commence. It was Viper's mission to _observe_, not engage, the incoming fleet.

As his wing crested the clouds, he thought about the mission. From this distance, they were relatively safe, and I didn't really want pictures, but an accurate report of the incoming fleet. Since the satellites didn't go over this particular area at this time of season, it wouldn't be possible to take satellite imagery. Also, the recent weather had proved to be uncooperative, and we had to fight through more than one rainstorm.

It seemed as if it were always raining, then…

---

High above, Jonathan caught a glimpse of the "Beta" fleet. Needless to say, he was stunned at the size of the carriers, and the twenty ships that escorted the larger ones. He looked over his shoulder to the rookies; they seemed to be ok, which was good; he needed his men at top shape if they were going to make it back without wetting themselves.

"Alright," he said to the others. "Listen up, Watchmen: we're not getting closer than under the cloud line, so forget it. We're just going to watch and see what-"

Three loud reports cut off his words. Looking down, Viper saw smoke hazing the air near three of the carriers. At first, he thought an internal explosion may have damaged the three vessels, but they happened simultaneously, a feat only possible through sabotage. Looking closer, he saw three white objects skimming the water.

"Damnit," he muttered. "All right, Watchmen, we have three contacts coming in, at the surface. Break above the cloud line and prepare to engage," He strapped on the oxygen mask and began to pull back on his flight stick, pulling the fighter into a shallow climb. His two allies followed close behind, themselves doing the same thing.

Below, the three fighters began a completely vertical climb, their afterburners creating a large contrail behind them. Under their wings, Phoenix missiles armed themselves and locked on to their enemies. Despite the instability of flying vertical, the Tomcats stayed true, and fired their missiles as one.

Warnings blared in Viper's ear as he broke the cloud line. He called out a break in formation, and immediately flipped upside-down and pulled back on his flight stick, diving back into the clouds. Around him was nothing but white as he pulled a number of evasive maneuvers, trying to shake the persistent missile off his tail. He barrel rolled left, eventually coming out of the clouds at the bottom of his arc. The warnings stopped blaring, letting Viper know that he had evaded the missile.

Watchman 2, meanwhile, had a much easier time. In fact, the young pilot had a trick up his sleeve. He used a wide turning arc, keeping in line with the missile's arc, before aligning himself with the incoming enemy jets. He put on full afterburners, jetting toward the three fighters, and then focused on only the lead jet. As his countdown timer read into short range, he weaved up and down, ducking mere feet from the Tomcat. The unfortunate AI had no chance as the missile slammed into its jet, tearing it in half.

Watchman 3 wasn't so lucky. The last Phoenix bore down on his fighter, and he had little chance. He weaved through the clouds, but in his panicked state he couldn't turn sharp enough. The missile met his engines, and vaporized the both of them. He didn't even have a chance to eject as his cockpit was consumed by flame. Both the other pilots heard him scream.

Meanwhile, the remaining two fighters, rather than ask for reinforcements, simply broke through the cloud-line, weaving about to a side-by-side formation. They again armed missiles, aiming at the two Tomcats ahead of them. A second before they fired, both fighters ducked back under the cloud-line. Reflexively, the two followed. However, once the fighters broke the bottom, their enemy wasn't there.

Viper and Watchman 2 had hidden in the clouds, and fortunately the enemy fighters were too dumb to realize that. As he watched them speed past him on radar, he armed his two Phoenixes and pulled up. He armed both, locking on almost instantly. As soon as he broke the cloud line, he fired. The two large missiles streaked towards their targets. A second later, two satisfying explosions followed.

"The only kind of fighter that dumb," Jon said. "Is the kind that's computer controlled," he narrowed his eyes, and called out to his remaining wingman. "Let's return to the fleet; Glen will want to know about this,"

---

**Ysgard Fleet – March 24th, 2007 – 0930 hours**

I watched the fighters come in, as had been customary for me. I hadn't slept well in days, so instead I watched fighters come and go. That day, it was a bit sunnier, and the view was clear miles around. I watched Viper's flight come in from over the horizon, and was more than a bit disturbed to see only two jets instead of three. They made a low arc over our carrier before the first jet landed. It was a rookie, who looked noticeably shaken as he came out of his jet, almost fainting when he touched the carrier deck.

Viper himself followed, landing so fast he almost overshot the deck. He jumped out of his fighter and ran toward me, saluting quickly.

"Sir!"

"What is it?"

"The enemy… they attacked us, sir,"

"Anti-air?"

"No, sir. They used fighters. By the way they acted, I would guess that they are computer controlled,"

"AI fighters?" I asked him. "Are you sure,"

"I'm certain," replied the younger pilot. "In fact, I'd put money on it. The AI fighters apparently have no concept for looking in the clouds themselves, and they fought us as if they were taking on a massive wave of fighters, firing off Phoenixes while we were flying almost sideways to them," he laughed. "It was sad, really," I waved my hand, silencing the pilot.

"But you lost a man," I said, pulling out a cigarette from my coat pocket. "That alone makes your scouting mission a failure," I lit the cigarette and put it in the corner of my mouth. "Until you can successfully do a sortie without losing men, then you'll be regulated to second-in-command. Is that clear?"

"…yes, sir," Viper replied. "But… what should we do? There were ten of these things, and from what I saw a direct attack on them may not be possible,"

"We have no choice," I told him. "Their fleet moves faster than us, and by the time they caught us we'd still be out of the Erick's range, if we tried to escape. The best we can do is to take out their escort and fighters. Maybe then we can at least get back to port without too many casualties,"

"Sir, what I saw would make this suicide," pleaded Viper. "Even if we can't run away, we could try, couldn't we?"

"No, we could not," I said sternly. "We have to do this. I don't like it, either, but right now there's no choice. It's do or die, right now, Lieutenant, and for now you just have to accept it. I have," I turned and walked away from him, tired of the argument.

"No offense, sir, but I'm not ready to die yet!" He called after me.

"Then you're in the wrong line of work," I said to him over my shoulder. "You would do better to be in the ISAF Air Force,"

---

The day wore on, and the flights continued per norm. Viper was assigned the task of sending the letter telling of the pilot's death to his family, and he in turn assigned it to the rookie that was in the short battle. I took another flight into the sky, this time of three F/A-18Cs. I led the wing to the outermost edge of the enemy fleet and launched Anti-Ship missiles at their AEGIS ships. They responded by launching fighters, five of them, but by the time they caught up with us we were under the protection of another wing of Tomcats, led by Ghostrider 1. The enemy retreated, but they really only lost three ships.

Having gotten a good look at the enemy Navy myself and at the rate which they traveled, I knew that the fight could happen as early as tomorrow afternoon. Most likely, our fleets wouldn't even meet. It was going to be a mostly air-to-air battle, and if the tide turned for better or worse, a sea battle. I resented thinking about a potential loss, but it was on my mind. I knew better than to think like this, but I couldn't help it.

I landed on deck harder than usual, and as I exited my jet I was questioned about the state of my well-being. I responded, of course, that I was fine, and moved on. I left the fighter bays and headed for my quarters, far away from everyone else. I knew the path well enough to walk it almost with my eyes closed; Deck 4 Starboard, down the hall to end, take a left, and it was there on the right. It was the only set of quarters on the hallway, and about fifty feet away from the next nearest room.

I entered my quarters, and called the lead of the Ghostriders over. As he entered, I sat him down and together we discussed plans for the imminent threat over the horizon. The Captain, he said, had a better prediction based on how fast AEGIS ships went, and figured that we had until tomorrow night, near dusk. That would mean we had about twenty-eight hours to prepare. If we retreated back to Bronze Gate One, then we could possibly extend the time to thirty-four hours, to the middle of the night. We agreed that was a bad idea; the rookies were still mostly unaccustomed to night flying, and all our sorties had been during the day anyways.

We would reorganize the flights. 8 of our ten pilots used either F-14Ds or F/A-18Es, both of which were capable air-attack fighters. The other two fighters was an F-35 and a Rafale B, which could hold their own in a dogfight but were ill-suited for a prolonged battle. These two would be our anti-ship jets, and attack the fleet directly while we attack the enemy air fleet.

"Let's see, we have 6 F-14s and 2 F-18s," Cody said. "Do you think we would have enough time to launch Phoenixes?"

"Probably not," I replied. "It's worth a shot, though," I had a model of a Tomcat on my desk. I reached over and picked it up. "Let's see… we could put two AIM-54s each on the jets, on the tops of the wings, near the fuselage,"

"Would that work?"

"I think so. We'd just have to jury-rig missile racks there, but I don't think it would be a problem," I flipped the model over. "Where Phoenixes normally go, we could place Sparrows,"

"Given the size, I'm guessing… 6 or 8 could go in the place of the Phoenixes?"

"That's what I'm thinking. Also, where the Sparrows went we could put 4 Sidewinders each. That's eight more missiles. So, given what you've seen, that's about… 16 or 18 missiles armed on to each Tomcat,"

"What will we do about the two Hornets?"

"Well, we can regulate the Hornets to an interception squad of two. Load them down with nothing but Sidewinders and they're good. They can hold more missiles, as well. So, you put eight of them under each wing, plus about 6 under the fuselage itself, and that's some twenty missiles,"

"The JSF and Rafale Fighters?"

"That's also no problem. We'll kill the stealth idea of the JSF and load both up with Anti-Ship missiles, with the Extended Range variant."

"That's a good idea, but that'll put us in the red with our missile supplies. Hell, I don't even think we have enough fuel left for another sortie, especially after the big battle we had last week,"

"I know. Hopefully, after we run out it'll be a simple method of returning home to restock," I sighed. "Who knew that keeping 10 jets armed was so complicated?

"Well, normally we're not preparing for an all-out assault, sir,"

"…I know." I said, contemplating the thought of the battle's outcome. The results probably wouldn't be good, but there was still a hope. _If_ we could get the first strike, _if _every missile was used effectively, and _if_ we could take out the enemy air fleet quickly, then there wouldn't be a problem. But there were too many "ifs", too many possibilities to which the answer was dependent on human wit and error.

And that, I realized, was also something that was working against us. The enemy jets, since they weren't human, would not err in their programming. They would work exactly how they were supposed to, without flaw. They fired missiles only when the numbers said the chances of hit were likely… but only based on other AI controlled jets. They did not account for human wit, the very force that could drive this victory. We weren't smarter than a computer, but we could adapt to new situations in battle.

For once, it wouldn't be experience that would turn the tide of battle, but it would be adaptability.

---

**Ysgard Battle Fleet – March 24th, 2007 – 1730 hours**

**Begin Countdown: 25 Hours Remaining**

We had a day to prepare. I asked the captain to check our reserves, and he told me in turn that we had enough fuel and weapons, though we were short on bullets. As such, the F-35 and F/A-18s would be going in without Vulcans, and much of my flight would be down to only 200 shells a jet. This was bad; for a few of us, using the cannons was a preferred method of downing enemy jets, next to using AIM-54s.

Afterward, we had a briefing on the deck of the primary carrier, Urd.

"Listen up, pilots," I began. The other flyers of the Navy were centered on me, so I could look right at them. "We have a plan of defense against the enemy Navy, but it will require precise flying from all of us,"

"We will launch fighters' two-and-a-half minutes before the fight begins. The F-14s will lead the pack, lining up in Broad formation. We'll launch two Phoenixes into what we're betting will be a large enemy wave of Tomcats and Hornets, just like what we've seen this whole time. Following that, we'll engage in close air-to-air combat with the enemy. Expect heavy assaults from two to three fighters each, as they'll be sure to overrun us,"

"Our two Hornets will be loaded differently," I continued. "Should the enemy breach the line of defense our cruisers are forming, then it will be up to you to counterattack. Your fighters are loaded up with Sidewinders, but no shells, so make the missiles count. You'll need to use your superior maneuverability instead of speed if it comes to a close-range fight above the fleet."

"Finally, the Rafale B and F-35 will have the important job of attack the enemy fleet from beyond their range by using LASM missiles. They will launch after we engage the enemy fighters, fly under the cover of the battle to the front line of enemy ships, and destroy as many AEGIS ships as they can. If you can pull this off, then we can simply pull in our Battleships behind you and take out the enemy carriers that way,"

"This isn't a foolproof plan," I concluded. "However, we're hoping it would be the most effective one we've got. We're expecting losses of jets, but losing pilots is out of the question. If it comes down to it, eject; I don't want to lose anyone tomorrow. Despite all the fighting, most of you are still green to true air combat. It'll be hell up there, but if you can pull through you can truly call yourself a pilot. Also," I took a breath. "If you get five kills, then we can call you an 'Ace'. And let me assure you, we need more aces," I stopped. "Questions?"

"Yes, sir," one of the pilots responded. I looked at the young rookie, curiosity burning in his eyes. "Just one quick question: if we have no bullets, then what'll we do if we run out of missiles?"

"Then you land, and hope for the best," I said solemnly. "Is there anyone else? Then you are dismissed,"

The crowd dispersed to prepare for the fight in their own way, but I stayed behind, breathing lightly. I always hated being in crowds like that, but it wasn't a problem. I was a good enough leader to not falter when my men needed me, and-

---

"Wait a second," Joseph interrupted. "I thought you didn't want to be a wing leader,"

"…I didn't…" Glen whispered. "But it was expected of me. I was the most experienced Navy pilot there, and it is what Erick appointed me to. I wasn't going to fail him or the Alliance," Glen stopped a second, and then continued.

---

I was a good enough leader to not collapse when I was needed, and though I didn't like it, I had a job to do.

The only one remaining was a rookie. It was the same boy who had asked the question. He looked young enough to be 20 or 21, I recall; he was too young for this war, but I picked him based off the promise he showed during the ISAF/Erusan Conflict. He hadn't flown many sorties, - only one if I recall correctly – but he did quite well.

"Sir," he began. "I was wondering something… were you in the war?"

"…Yes," I replied slowly; the war did not bring back pleasant memories. "I was in that terrible war,"

"What side did you fight for, sir?"

"I fought for both sides," I told him, looking him in the eye. "I fought for ISAF until Operation Bunker Shot, when I was shot down behind enemy lines. I was captured and was forced to pilot against my former allies until Mobius 1 shot down my fighter during the operation against Megalith,"

"You were a Yellow?" the young pilot asked incredulously.

"In that final conflict, everyone was a Yellow, no matter how skilled you were,"

The rookie fell silent, and then looked back up at me. "What was your designation?"

"Yellow 7," I said. "I was the third fighter shot down, but I in turn took out Mobius 2," I looked away from him. "I am not proud of that,"

I knew the rookie was looking for inspiration, something to fight for. "Know this, though: I was proud to serve in the ISAF Navy, and as an Officer I fought for my country using my F-14 to the best of its ability. Though I didn't fight for what I believed in at the end of the war, I did during the beginning. That's why we're here now, kid; we're here to fight for our lives. And that is definitely something to believe in,"

The boy looked at me and nodded again, this time with a wry smile across his face.

"Maybe some of us more than others," he said.

"That's true," I replied. "But we're still fighting,"

"Will the fighting ever stop?"

"Yes, it will; you just have to believe that it will,"

---

**22 Hours remaining**

I looked out to the ocean. Night was falling fast, and the sun rested upon the ocean like a red wave. It would be this time that the fleet would stop its forward progression, the practice maneuvers would stop, and the lockdown would begin. Every pilot was preparing for this moment, when the attack would come. Every crew member on each ship was also steeling themselves for the imminent threat. Anti-aircraft guns were pointed to the sky; SAM missiles came online; Battleship cannons faced the starboard side of each ship as they turned to the sides, guns at the ready. The cruisers backed next to the carriers, preparing to use their own weaponry.

"It's a beautiful night approaching," whispered a voice behind me.

"Yes, it is," I told it, recognizing it immediately.

"Do you still believe that you can save these pilots?" It asked.

"Yes, I do. It will take effort, but at least I can help,"

"You are not God; some will die, others will steal away from themselves. What will you do with them?"

"The only thing I can do," I told it, turning to look at the person talking to me. "Fight,"

"Then you will lose,"

"Then I will perish,"

"There is no talking to you, is there?" It asked me, hint of venom in its voice. "You are too fatalist; it's like talking to myself,"

"It is all the same, anyway," I said. "You and I will see this to the end,"

The voice faded away, and so did the person in front of me. It was the same, every night; I would hear people, the allies I killed in the war, talking to me, demanding vengeance… at the cost of even the greenest of rookies.

Such was the cost of war, when man would do anything to get back at man. Even after it was over, the demons of my past haunted me, and they still do.

---

"They sit here, there, next to you and me," Glen told Joseph. "I can't go anywhere without hearing them, seeing them. They're like a plague, always tearing at me. No matter what, they want my blood,"

"Why? Don't they know that it was forced?"

"It doesn't matter; they don't care about that. What matters to them is that they died by my hand…"

---

"Problems, Glen?"

I looked behind me. The only female in the navy's squadron, a young girl of 18, looked at me quizzically. She never referred to me by rank, only my first name. Though I found it disrespectful at first, I had gotten used to it. I don't remember the thought behind picking her, but obviously she was there for some reason. I knew that she was a fierce dogfighter, and though we hadn't accomplished much in the way of casualties, she never ceased to amaze me with her raw talent. Given time, she would have been the greatest pilot we had.

I looked at her more closely; when not on duty, she wore thin glasses that somehow brightened her green eyes. Her brown/red hair ran down past her shoulders, spilling on either side. I remember those clearly, because they stuck out. She was somehow different from everyone else on board either carrier; I could always pick her out on deck, usually working on her Hornet or one of the carrier's choppers. She was talented with machinery, and out of the two Hornets hers always seemed to come out better in the crew's various competitions.

But at that point, it was all moot.

"Yes, I'm fine," I told her. "I was just admiring the stars,"

"I see," she replied. "So that's why you look like you've seen a ghost. I guess those stars just scare you to death, hm?"

"…It doesn't matter," I said after a pause. "Don't worry about it,"

"Right… like I won't. You know that you're important to us all, Glen. If you have a problem, then we have a problem," She smiled. "Besides, you're like the team leader. You have to be okay, you know? You're obligated,"

Despite myself, I grinned back. "Yeah, I know," The girl flashed another smile at me.

"Take care of yourself, ok?" She said. I nodded. She stared at me a little while longer, then walked off.

It was the last time I would ever see her alive…

---

**Interlude**

_I looked to the night sky,_

_And I saw the fate of my fellow men,_

_There was so little I could do,_

_But I would fight,_

_This is the story…_

_This is the fall of my men,_

_The fall from the heavens,_

_To the hellish waters below,_

_When all we could do was fly,_

_Fly and fight for our lives,_

_Because it came upon us,_

_To fight this final battle,_

_We were a band of pilots,_

_Who faced the greatest odds,_

_We were alone,_

_But we were together,_

_Glen Galanodel, Freelance Alliance, Sea Hydra Flight_

---

The light of dusk fell upon the fleet, filtering through storm clouds overhead. The enemy battle fleet was far away, but the fight would commence shortly.

Ten pilots, 9 men and 1 woman, readied their fighters. Six Super Tomcats, armed to the teeth with missiles and bullets, lifted on to the catapults. Pilots made their final checks as they built up the pressure in their engines for launch. In tandem, engines flared and catapults shot. Tomcats rose high into the sky, tucking their wheels inside their frame. They joined into formation high in the sky, as they prepared for the fight.

Down below, Hornets prepped and launched, readying their Sidewinders for the attack. The one girl of the air fleet made one last check before looking to the sky, blinking back the tears she felt; like everyone else, she knew that this would be the toughest fight of their lives. Nothing could match this moment; this one fight where the fight would be determined by raw ingenuity and skill, not battle strategy and techniques.

As the Hornets flew into the sky, they took up their own formation, separate from the main squadron. This was fine to both pilots, who would provide close defense for the fleet, ducking and weaving through the missile network that would be inevitable. They hung back as the Tomcats inched their way forward. Above them, thunderheads loomed, as if waiting in anticipation for the incoming fight.

The enemy fleet was well within the horizon. Their great carriers lined up side-to-side, their AEGIS ships forming a loose defensive formation about them. The enemy captains lifted their arms into the air, ready to give the command. Engineers prepped fighters with no pilots, loading them onto cannon-like decks. Arms lowered, and ten great reports, like cannon going off, was heard.

In response, the heavens opened up, and rain poured down from the clouds, followed by a flash of lightning and a sound of thunder. This deterred neither side, of course, but instead roused the Freelance Navy even more. They were all comfortable in the rain, especially given the recent weather, but there was something else, something that pushed them even further to win this fight, putting a certain song to their lips.

It started as one of the pilots humming over the comm. Glen and Cody, leaders of the Navy, also started humming the tune. Then another, and then yet another pilot hummed. Then they sang.

_Riders on the Storm…_

_Riders on the Storm…_

_Into this house we're born,_

_Into this world we're thrown,_

_Like a dog without a bone,_

_An actor out on loan,_

_Riders on the Storm…_

_There's a killer on the road,_

_His brain is squirming like a toad,_

_Take a long holiday,_

_Let your children play,_

_If you give this man a ride,_

_Sweet family will die,_

_Killer on the road…_

"All units, this is Hydra Leader. Engage at will,"

"Arming Phoenixes!"

"Ready to fire missiles whenever you are!"

"Roger that! Hydra 4, ready to fire on your command, sir,"  
"Understood. Sea Hydras, line up! Fire!"

"Ghostriders! Line up! Fire!"

Twelve missiles streaked from the six Tomcats, weaving about each other as they closed in on the ten enemy Tomcats as they leveled off. The computerized fighters never stood a chance, as the missiles were upon them as the consoles activated. Ten explosions blossomed across each pilot's field of vision, enticing shouts of victory from some of the newer pilots.

"Cut it," Glen called to them. "That was the first wave. There's bound to be more," Simultaneously, another report was heard from the carriers and ten more fighters streaked into the sky. As if learning from their predecessors' mistakes, these Tomcats activated quicker, arming their own missiles for a counterattack.

"All fighters break and evade!" Banshee called. "Look out for incoming fire!" The six Tomcats simultaneous broke off from the formation, contrails in their wake. Forty AIM-54s streaked from the enemy Tomcats, lancing toward the allied jets quickly. Fortunately, none of them hit, though two collided near Viper's jet. The force of the explosion propelled the jet out of control, spinning.

"Ahh!" He screamed as his fighter finally ended up with its noise pointing down. "Damn! Damn!" He pulled up on the stick frantically and hit the afterburners, leveling out his fighter with one-hundred feet to spare. He continued pulling up before coming face-to-face with an enemy F-14A. Two Sidewinders streaked from the enemy jet, aiming right for him. In response, Viper twisted his flight stick sideways and pushed the throttle up farther. His fighter tilted to its side and flew in between the offending missiles. The enemy fighter loomed in his view.

Banshee was having better luck. He ducked under two Sparrows shot at him before arming one of his own. He heard the familiar tone of a lock-on, grinned, and fired a missile right at the enemy fighter. The Tomcat, as if caught unaware, ran straight into the missile, the front end exploding into pieces, leaving the rest of the fighter – thrusters still going – right for the Ghostrider leader. He narrowly missed the fighter's remains as he veered over it.

"Attention, pilots! A third wave is on its way! Prepare for missile attack!"

As the words left the radar operator's lips, another lock-on warning screamed along each pilot's fighter, and another 40 missiles wailed toward them with impunity. The missiles were poorly angled, however, and most barely even changed their course as they made their way past the tiny furball. The rest also found no mark, but they gave a couple of pilots a good chase.

Glen was one of those pilots. Three Phoenixes converged on his location, forcing him to pull up on the flight stick and go into a wide loop. His fighter, wings swept back, was almost a missile in itself as it went into the loop. Reaching for a switch, Glen released some chaff behind his fighter, confusing the Phoenixes long enough for him to slow down and tighten the loop. He came out of it just as the enemy third wave converged on the fight.

"Listen up," he called. "Fly in groups of two. No single-ship attacks," he switched channels. "Viper, I'm hijacking you from your flight. Form up on my wing,"

"Yes, sir,"

Glen watched Viper's Tomcat as it shook off two fighters before gunning down a third, pulling into an Immelman, and then rocketing toward the Sea Hydra flight lead. Glen nodded to the pilot, and then twisted the stick into a hard left bank. Viper followed easily, his own Tomcat following just behind and to the left of the lead fighter.

"Fourth wave incoming!"

Glensather and Viper looked down to the ten carriers as another row of cannons fired, releasing their ammunition into the sky. This time, ten F/A-18s quickly joined the group. These fighters were deadlier at medium to short-range than Tomcats because of their AIM-7X XMAA missiles. These missiles, modified Sparrows, provided a deadlier chase than the normal variant used by the FA Navy. Worse yet, they were armed with eight of these missiles, plus four Sidewinders.

Missile lock warnings again flashed before allied jets, and the formations broke into separate fighters as they began evasive tactics. Sparrow IIs streaked from the enemy Hornets, joining the formation almost as fighters themselves. They ducked and weaved almost as good as the allied jets, and some almost found their mark.

Glensather looked up just in time to see three missiles barreling down on him, coming in through the rain.

There was a flash of lightning.

---

"Fifth wave approaching… it looks like they're ignoring the fight and heading right for the fleet!"

"You heard them. Kraken Two, ready?"  
"Ready as I'll ever be, Kraken Lead,"

"Then let's go party,"

The two F/A-18Es stationed around the Ysgard fleet locked an intercept course against the enemy Hornets coming in with Anti-Ship missiles. They burned fuel as their afterburners activated, hurtling them right for the enemy. As they got in range for their Sidewinders, they watched helplessly as the Ten Hornets dropped and fired twelve missiles. The cruisers sped out in front of the Battleships, locking on to the slower-moving missiles and opening fire. 18 of the twenty missiles were shot down, but two found their mark on a patrol boat. The small ship went up in flames, listing to the side and forcing the lead carrier to move around it.

Heartened by this, the pilots didn't give time for the Hornets to re-lock or retreat, firing a stream of missiles at them. The enemy Hornets, loaded with nothing but Air-to-Ground missiles and vulcans, were forced to fly evasive maneuvers. However, they were too slow for the FA jets and their missiles. Five fighters fell to five Sidewinders, and before the rest of the wave could retreat a wave of cruiser fire and Surface-to-Air missiles reduced the enemy to ashes.

The "Kraken" wing of two grinned to themselves; maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

--

The two attackers raced along the ocean waves. The storm was picking up now, and the waves from the water threatened to slap them out of the sky. The Rafale B pilot, known in the skies as Hurricane, grinned, despite himself. They had gone _around_ the enemy fleet, coming in on their exposed flanks and rear. Their missiles were hot, ready to fire with the pull of a trigger. The hexagon and crosshair slowly circled about one of the AEGIS ships as it swam through the waters merrily.

The F-35 pilot, a rookie, had been tasked with taking out the carrier defenses. He locked his missiles on to one of the SAM deck guns, and his lock-on indicator flashed red. The impatient pilot quickly lanced a missile for the enemy.

"Wait!" Hurricane shouted. "Assassin One, it's not time!" But it was too late. The missile slammed into the carrier, and a bright flash filled the eyes of the pilots. When the smoke cleared, however, the deck gun remained, and was trained on the Lightning II. The rookie panicked, hurtling into the sky. The AEGIS ships, their anti-air guns on a swivel with the carriers, locked on to the ascending jet. The rookie panicked further, shooting off all his missiles in random directions; carriers, ships, the sea.

Most of the missiles didn't find a mark, but the few that hit the AEGIS ships did damage. Even though this was followed by over a dozen missiles incinerating the F-35, the rookie left behind a legacy of three wrecked ships.

---

Glen again cursed himself. The Sparrows that had bore down on him was shot down by Viper, his wingman. But it was close – almost too close. Scorches ran along Glen's fighter now, on the wings and body, and even on the tail.

But it wasn't important; his fighter was still serviceable, and so he could still fly. He pushed ahead of Viper and caught sight of a roaming F/A-18, chasing down an F-14. Glen armed a Sparrow and lined up and intercept course for his missile. The tone caught, and the pilot pulled the trigger. The missile ejected from its holding rack, activated, and streaked for the Hornet. The AI jet never stood a chance as the missile lined up perfectly, striking it in the right wing and shredding the fighter to pieces.

"There's a sixth wave incoming!" Command shouted from the carrier. "It looks like more Tomcats, and they're headed right for you!"

Viper looked down at the carriers. Sure enough, there were ten more jets, and as the enemy fleet bore closer to the allied fleet, they climbed at an even steeper angle.

"Wait…" he whispered. "That's too steep of a climb…" he then realized that the enemy jets were angling themselves for a better shot with their Phoenixes. He opened a channel to the others. "Watch out, everyone! The Tomcats are setting up for a shot! Get ready for evasive maneuvers!" Immediately, the FA jets broke off from their fighting and shot off into random directions. At the same time, the enemy Hornets and Tomcats also broke off from the fight, and joined with the new enemy jets.

At once, the Phoenixes streaked away from the enemy jets, barreling down on the scattered Navy. The missiles weren't made for turning, however, and all of them missed their mark. The FA jets rejoined into a single unit, and looked at the wall of Tomcats and Hornets as it joined again with them… this time, their Vulcan cannons blazed through the rain-soaked air.

The AI fighters broke off into groups of about a dozen each, chasing down wings of fighters. The skies above the battle were filled with enemy jets, easily outnumbering the allied jets.

The F/A-18Es that were part of the navy close defense force broke off from the defensive job, going up to join the fight high up in the sky. Lightning flashed in the skies, and a roar of thunder was heard, as the fighters went up to join. One of the pilots, Kraken 1, watched bemusedly as another bolt of lightning hit an enemy Tomcat, short-circuiting the AI and causing it to wildly fly about before running into another enemy jet.

"What are you going?" Glen shouted. "You're supposed to be protecting the allied fleet!"

"The cruisers can handle it, sir," Kraken 2, the girl, replied. "I have faith in them," She watched as Glen and his wingman evaded a series of missiles hurled at them.

"You are violating my orders!"

"Well, we just couldn't let you die like this, sir!"

"…"

"Attention, pilots, seventh wave incoming!"

Viper growled. "Man, why don't they just finish us off now instead of toying with us like this?"

"They're enjoying their game," Glen told him as he evaded five or six poorly aimed missiles. "Notice how they aren't even taking that many shots, and if then, they might as well not have? They – the AI – they're playing a game with us. The AI has probably figured out that they can win, but they're waiting…"

"They want to wait until they can absolutely crush us?" A pilot asked incredulously. "Then let's go at it!" Two of the Tomcats did a loop, getting in behind one of the enemy hordes that were chasing them. They opened fire with machine guns and missiles, taking out a good eight of the twelve chasing them. Even better, the fireballs created from the explosions ran into a couple of the other fighters, leaving only one Tomcat lucky enough to survive.

"Ha! Take THAT," the allied Tomcat pilots shouted. They didn't see the two Hornets coming up behind them.

"Watch out, behind you!" Glensather and Banshee shouted at the same time.

Too late.

The missiles launched from the enemy fighters, bearing down on the gloating pilots. The first two missiles hit the wingman, vaporizing all of his jet before he had a chance to eject. The second two hit both of the lead pilot's wings, blasting them off and sending the jet into the ocean.

"Damnit!" Banshee shouted.

Suddenly, the enemy shots were a lot better.

---

The Rafale B and her pilot had been having a wonderful time. Despite being unable to damage the carriers, they were making meat out of the AEGIS ships as they floated merrily on their way. The small jet had emptied its entire payload on one last ship, and what was left of the enemy ships acted as if they weren't even there.

Suddenly, ten sets of deck guns aimed right at the Rafale. The pilot had time to curse as suddenly gunfire streaked the wet air and missiles left dry marks in the sky. Hurricane pushed the throttle to as high as it could go and began evasive maneuvers. He ducked most of the gunfire and a few of the missiles easily.

Something caught him from behind, though. His jet buckled forward, almost out of control, and was sent to the ocean not-too-far below. He managed to pull up just above the water. Looking back, the pilot gasped slightly as he noticed that the tail of his jet was just _gone_, like it had been sheered off completely. He looked around for more damage on his jet.

As he did so, the carriers fired three times in succession. Out went all of the carriers' Hornets, flying in a single file line right for the fleet. Hurricane watched helplessly as they ducked under the fight above the skies, took their sweet time to aim, and then fire.

---

"Fleet, evade!" Glen shouted, as he evaded another flurry of gun shots.

The missiles screamed toward the fleet as it tried to evade. Just as they reached the fleet, however, a few of the missiles ducked under the water – jet-launched torpedoes.

The battleships never stood a chance. Three missiles hit each ship along their decks and sides, causing fires and flooding in all places. The missiles that streaked past the battleships hit random patrol ships and all four cruisers, and small fires erupted where ships used to be.

The missiles that ducked underwater ran into the bridges and ladders of the three submarines. The rest of the subs were mostly intact, but the crew, with no way out, was trapped until they died underwater in a sub that spun out of control endlessly, spiraling downward. The other torpedoes ran into the AEGIS ships, causing floods to spring all over the ships.

The last set of missiles hit the carriers, though only two hit the primary one. The second one was hit full force, though; the bridge collapsed in on itself, holes appeared along all sides of the ship, and the deck had a massive gaping hole in the center.

In fifteen seconds, the Ysgard Battle Fleet had gone from the Freelance Alliance's first line of defense to a crippled, single-ship fleet of one carrier.

The Hornets turned around and flew upward, into the rainy sky…

---

The Tomcats had another problem. As the battle wore on, they were running out of fuel and ammo. Almost every shot was a guaranteed hit, but for every jet hit another took its place. By now, the FA jets were fighting off almost 70 enemies. These enemies never so much as glanced at each other, flying in perfect formations, and systematically firing their small payloads away.

Glen and Viper were out of missiles, but they still had ammo in their guns. They opened fire together, taking out Tomcat after Tomcat after Hornet.

The battle wore on, though.

The two Hornet pilots flew together, and as they reached down to their last few missiles, a horde of gunfire came from above the clouds, to their flanks, from behind, and from down below. The first wave of gunfire cut through the lead Hornet, tearing it to shreds but not destroying it. However, the pilot was dead, killed by bullets, and the jet flew toward the ocean below.

The second wave of gunfire chased the poor girl of the second Hornet. She ducked and weaved around the columns of gunfire, but it would be too little, too late. The tireless fighters eventually caught up to her. The bullets first entered her tail, working their way up the fuselage, taking out every single critical component on the way. Though her fighter eventually caught fire, it wasn't before the jets reached the cockpit. The girl screamed as over two hundred shells entered the jet from all directions. Her blood soaked the cockpit and covered the canopy as the jet finally exploded.

Still, there was no ceasing.

Banshee and his wingman were both out of missiles and ammo. Now, they were just flying, evading, and ducking. As long as they distracted the fighters, they reasoned, the last carrier could get away. But it wasn't enough, and soon Banshee lost his wingman to six missiles. The Ghostrider lead looked around helpless before seeing a glint in the lightning. Looking ahead, he saw two Sparrows bearing down on him. He never had a chance to react.

The battle continued.

Now it was just Glensather, Viper, and about 45 enemy jets. They were low on fuel, had no shells, and were being chased by everyone.

"It's over," Glen whispered. "Finally, we'll die," But today wasn't his day, and neither was it Viper's. On an unspoken order, all of the enemy jets suddenly left. Simultaneously, the rain cleared up, and the sun broke through the clouds. The enemy carriers had turned around and began going the direction from whence they came. As if in lamentation, two of the enemy Hornets was seen escorting the damaged Rafale B back to the last carrier, treating the fighter as a valuable target.

At the same time, two Tomcats came up to Glensather and Viper. Dumbstruck, they followed the jets back to the last carrier.

As they neared the carrier, a transmission came in.

"Attention, surviving enemy pilots," it said. "This is the captain of the Nirvana One, the flagship of the Nirvana fleet. We congratulate you on your amazing ability to survive this fight. In return, we'll let you live. It is only fitting for pilots such as you,"

Soon after, the Tomcats left, as did the Hornets. Glen landed on deck first, followed by Viper, then the Rafale.

It was over.

---

**2200 Hours – March 25th, 2007**

Glen sat on the deck of the last remaining carrier, the Urd. He watched the ocean as it lapped gently against the carrier, the moonlight reflecting off of it. His fighter sat behind him, the black scorches on it reminding him of the day's battle.

Of the original 10 pilots, there were only three remaining, and even then it was because mercy was shown to them. No one had managed to eject. Of the twenty-one ships that consisted of the Ysgard Battle Fleet, only this carrier remained, and it was mostly crippled. They had only traveled twelve miles since the battle ended, and pieces of jets were still being found, floating in the water. Almost twenty minutes ago one of the submarines that had been damaged surfaced like a beached whale before going under again.

Glen looked at his hands. The knuckles were still white from gripping the throttle and flight stick so tightly. He was tired, worn out, and generally just dead. His jet wasn't in much better shape, as the black marks and clipped wings would tell. Glen stared at his hands for a long time. Then he put them down, and watched as two glistening droplets of water fell from his face into the ocean.

"It's over," he whispered. "We lived… but we failed,"

"We'll get our revenge," said a voice behind him. Jonathan. "One day, we'll get our fighters rebuilt, and we'll come back. We'll take out the Nirvana fleet and each one of those damned fighters," He looked up to the night sky, now clear as crystal. "It's our obligation as the last members of the Navy,"

"Revenge…" Glen said. Slowly, he stood. "Yes… revenge…" the pilot narrowed his eyes.

---

The night came and passed, and on the next day some disturbing news was learned. The carrier was sinking more rapidly than ever. As the last three pilots stepped out on deck, they noticed that a pod of dolphins was swimming right next to the ship. They noticed because the deck of the ship was almost level with the ocean. Most of the crew had escaped into lifeboats, and now only the deck crew remained. They were prepping the three crippled fighters for one last launch.

"We're getting you to the Thanatos base," one of them told the pilots. "Your jets have been loaded up with all the fuel we could find. It should be just enough to reach the base, but I doubt after this your jets will be serviceable again. Lieutenant Galanodel, you're up first,"

Soon, the three jets were in the skies again. This time, there was no rain, only sunlight. They circled and watched as the deck crew got into the last few lifeboats, and soon after the carrier's deck was no longer visible. The bridge stuck out over the water for a few seconds before it too was sunk.

With no more time to spare, the pilots changed their heading and went for the Thanatos base of Caelum Umbra. As they went, they looked to the sky and sang their anthem, one last time…

_Riders on the Storm…_

_Riders on the Storm…_

_Into this house we're born,_

_Into this world we're thrown,_

_Like a dog without a bone,_

_An actor out on loan,_

_Riders on the Storm…_

---

**To Be Continued…**

"**Next: Chapter Five – Infiltration"**

**-**

In this section, I will attempt to answer some questions that reviewers have left me.

For one, the unrealistic flight attack in "Thanatos" that was brought up: It really is very unrealistic, but I'll attempt to explain that down the road. I think.

The story for now does focus on a large base as a whole, as well as her inhabitants: All in all, you could say that I have about 50 characters written up. These are not all my doing; in reality, I posted the need for characters on a message board a while ago, and people responded. I modified the characters as I pleased and turned them into what you see here before you. As the story progresses, there will be a shift to four main characters with the other 46 or so becoming support characters. (I've also not introduced everyone; more will come later). It's difficult to write so many characters (as I found out when I started this ambitious project), so that's why the focus will shift.

If you read closely, you can tell I've pointed out some characters to watch. Chris points out Rei ("Raven 4, Fox 2"), Erick points out Rena (the girl at the end of the Prologue), Joseph points out Juan, and Glen in this chapter points out Jonathan ("I'm hijacking you from your flight.") .

Juan and the Ghosts have something special about them I can't delve into here for storyline purposes. The "killing mode" as was described in the review I call "Ghosting", which in turn makes the characters quite interesting, and gives them a detail that's more or less hard to describe.

Finally, you'll notice that my chapter sequence is different from the one provides. You see, the prologue is really a conglomerate of three chapters (Separated into their names: Prologue, Nuggets, Perimeter), while this one is a two-parter (you can see the break right after the Interlude, where it goes from 1st person to 3rd person). Look for more of these off-base numbers as it progresses.

Anywho, that's all I got for now: As questions come in, I'll be sure to try and answer them. Look for one more of these around the end of Chapter 5 or 6.


	4. Infiltration

There were twenty of them.

A couple of the men began their work first, crawling up and around the building, taking out all of the cameras they could find, using their hands and their bayonets. Next, a few of the men on the ground began to plant their explosives – TNT and C4 – around the base of the building, at all the critical points. They sent another squad of men to put explosives on the walls of the building proper, and then they put more explosives on the ceiling and roof.

The men retreated, heading back to their infiltration point. They contacted their men on other parts of the area; there were three-hundred of them total, though only these men had explosives. Their black-on-black Kevlar vests kept them hidden for the most part. The twenty men surrounded another who typed frantically at a small laptop, preparing to give the word to the charges.

"Alpha team, this is Bravo team," one of the men whispered. "The charges have been set. We are ready whenever you are, over,"

"Roger that, Bravo team," the man on the other side of the radio replied. "We'll spread the word. We start the operation in ten minutes, over,"

"Copy that, Alpha," The man put the radio away and peeked over the foliage. There, amidst taxiing lights and lights from the "bridge" deck, the gray-brown figure of Megalith loomed…

---

**Freelance Alliance: The Sky's Angels**

**Chapter: 05**

"**Infiltration"**

**Bronze Gate One Hangar Deck – 2250 hours – April 1st, 2007**

There were some twenty fighters in the decks of the large base, though there was certainly room for more. The dull overhead lights revealed all sorts of jets, ranging from the Erusian F-15E Strike Eagle to the Yuktobanian S-37 Berkut. Today would mark the first day all of these fighters were completed, built to the bolt and armed to the teeth. Normally, the pilots kept their payloads for the day outlined in front of them, but due to how recently these jets were built, they hadn't managed to set that up yet.

Normally, the hangar was quiet at this time of night, but such wasn't the case. Far off in a corner, in the part of the hangar with the flight leaders' jets, a single Su-37 Terminator had its canopy propped open. The front wheels had been lowered, and the nose of the jet rested steadily on a truck.

Underneath the fighter, Major Chris Johnson tinkered on his fighter. The computer systems of the jet were stationed under the cockpit, and one of the ways to reach them was through the fuselage below. He had managed to strip away the armor, and now had his laptop connected to the computer in the jet. The two modems were talking to each other, establishing a connection, whilst Chris replaced some poorly welded wires.

The young pilot had been uneasy as of late, along with the rest of the FA. News had been brought down from Caelum Umbra two days ago about what happened to the Navy, and so a lot of people were on edge. It was only a matter of time, Erick had reasoned, before another attack was thrown at the base.

That's why Chris was tinkering with his jet now, while the enemy would hopefully not attack. The computers established a connection just as the pilot finished with his jet's rewiring. Wiping his hands off on a rag, he slid over to the computer. Up came a diagram of the jet's frame, along with a wire-frame model and a lot of data only a pilot could understand. He typed in a command to start gathering data from the jet, and stood up from under the Terminator.

Walking around, Chris climbed into the fighter, nearly knocking over the flight stick in some random direction. He reoriented himself, placed both feet on the pedals, and began some tests. He pulled the stick in certain directions in unison with the pedals and then moved the throttle about, and finally he began pushing a few buttons. He ignited then killed the engine, raised and lowered the flaps, and generally performed every function of the jet that didn't amount to firing an Archer missile or letting loose with gunfire.

As he finished, however, something caught his eye. Looking up, Chris saw a group of flashlights coming in. He didn't know what was going on, so he closed the canopy quietly and ducked into the back seat of the Terminator, next to his prized blade. He had no way of communicating to the bridge, so he peaked just over the edge and stared down.

There were about thirty men, all of which must have come from the stairwell that led to the hangar from the outside. They were armed with HK MP5s, each one with a flashlight on the end. They wore black flak jackets and helmets that resembled gas masks. They spread out, two to a group, but three of them hung back next to his Terminator; the odd position the jet was in must have attracted them to it.

"This is Charlie team," one of them said into a com Chris figured must be in the helmet. "The hangar is secure. There's a jet here that's been worked on, and a computer, so we figure one of the pilots are in here. We're conducting a search now,"

Chris ducked back under the edge of the canopy, hoping he wasn't spotted by anyone. Slowly, he reached over to his blade and the pistol in its holster on his side…

---

"Coffee?"

"What? Oh, no thanks,"

Erick von Long, Colonel and leader of the Freelance Alliance, read the file again. It was a detailed report from Joseph Burns of Glen's account of the fight… and his subsequent mental breakdown. The look on the old man screamed anger, but his voice was calm. The pilot who offered him coffee sat down across from him.

"Is it bad?" she asked.

"…that's putting it lightly, Susan," was the wry remark from the old man. "Never have I seen destruction of our forces so complete like this. The attack on us a couple months ago doesn't even compare to what happened here,"

"So I've heard," the other pilot replied. Susan West, an attack pilot for Air Ixiom, was a new transfer, but she was already one of the most popular people here. The news of the attack struck her as unsettling, just like it did everyone else. "Only three left…"

"Two," Erick corrected. "According to Joseph, he doubts that he can ever get Glen to fly again. Otherwise, Anderson's been put into Thanatos for the time being in an F-22A, and the other one is on his way here. He'll be joining Air Ixiom, and using the Rafale M," Erick sighed. "Things are looking bad, you know? We still don't know who we're fighting. That, plus the enemy uber-fleet that's out there, is making this harder on us," He sighed.

"Well, look at it this way," Susan said. "The Navy did some big damage to the enemy fleet, and for now they're on the run. Possibly, they're on their way to a base to get more fighters. For all we know, we won't see them for ages," she smiled. "Meanwhile, we can focus on other things: the repairs on the base are almost complete, right?" Erick nodded. "You see? It's not all bad,"

"Yeah, I guess," he said. He looked at the second cup of coffee, steaming in its mug. "On second thought, I think I will have a cup of coffee," he took the mug and placed it between his hands. "But you know, Susan…" he began. "Because of what happened, I'm wondering if we should recall Thanatos. They're so far off that if the Nirvana fleet was to attack, they wouldn't stand a chance,"

"I wouldn't worry about them," the Eagle pilot replied. "Thanatos is capable of taking care of their own," she laughed. "They're probably better than us at taking care of ourselves," She finally succeeded; Erick laughed slightly, but enough to lighten the mood.

"Yeah, probably,"

---

Normally, the flyboys and girls of the base Bronze Gate One were fast asleep by this time of night. The only real exceptions were a few pilots who stayed up late, doing whatever they wanted to, and generally were their most active at night. People like Chris, Susan, and Erick were some of these pilots. But, there was a fourth pilot who enjoyed the hours of the night, almost as much as people enjoyed the hours of day.

Rei Fukai, the young pilot who showed promise during the defense of the base a month ago, sat alone in a break room watching the late-night news. There was no mention about the destruction of the Navy, or of the attack on Bronze Gate One, but this was expected; the black nature of the Freelance Alliance prohibited any kind of visitors to the island, and the red tape surrounding the FA was thick enough to deter all but the bravest of spies and journalists.

In truth, the only people who knew of the Freelance Alliance were the alliance itself and the highest officials of both the ISU and Erusian governments, and even the alliance itself knew little of their purpose. Defending Erusia _was_ a high honor, and a top priority, but no armies were disbanded. The only real difference now was that Yellow Squadron and Mobius Squadron could fly in the same airspace without shooting at each other.

"Just what is the FA's purpose?" Rei wondered aloud. He shrugged and looked back toward the television. It was droning on about how pieces of fighter and ship debris was found in the water; ironically, it was only two-hundred miles west of where Thanatos operated, and since it was found by a fishing boat, it was discarded as leftovers from the war still floating about.

_It was a war everyone wants to forget. _He thought to himself. _Especially the soldiers involved._ He thought about Operation Bunker Shot, a fight in which Mobius One participated in. Rei had been in Yuktobania at the time, still serving in the YAF, when news of the conflict reached his ears. Mobius One, a hero to all pilots everywhere, had described it as one of the most horrifying things he had ever seen.

But it was all bridge under the water now. Rei wasn't in that war, and he never wanted to be in a war, but he was a pilot to defend against such a war. It was ironic, then, that in their own little part of the world, the Freelance Alliance was having an undeclared war with an enemy they had not seen the face of.

The sound of rapidly moving boot steps brought Rei out of his thoughts. Listening more closely, he could make out the sound of metal against metal… like someone heavily armed or armored. Rei didn't move, instead listening as they neared the corner of where the break room was.

"…Clear!" Unless they were in some odd exercise, this was not the local security force. Rei knew this, and so he snuck over to the corner of the break room, opening the storage closest and diving inside, closing the door quietly. He listened as he heard some of the men coming into the room. One of them said something about getting a drink, but then seconds later he heard someone grab and pull on something on their bodies; the ripping of Velcro.

"This is Delta team," the man said. "It looks like this floor is clear, too: she's nowhere in sight,"

"Roger that," the man on the other end confirmed. "Proceed to the bunk rooms below you and watch closely; her room has to be somewhere,"

"Yes, sir," There was a shuffling, then some walking, and then silence. Rei pressed his body against the door, grabbing a wrench in a toolbox that was in the closest. Slowly, he turned the knob and opened the door, and peeked outside. There was one soldier, his back to Rei, fiddling with the Coke machine. Taking his chance, Rei opened the door and snuck up behind the man as he groaned in frustration, pulling out his pistol and aiming at the lock on the machine.

Before the man had a chance to fire, Rei lifted the wrench and brought it down on the man's head. He crumpled beneath the pilot's feet. Bending down, Rei plucked the pistol out of the man's hands, then the two clips of extra ammo. He holstered those, and then he dismantled the MP5 that the soldier had; it would be bad if he woke up while Rei was gone. He dragged the Kevlar-wearing man back to the storage closest, and then closed the door.

With no time to spare, Rei ignored the phone on the wall and ran after the soldiers as they "cleared" another hallway.

---

Rena Davenport was most also active as this time of night. She didn't wander the halls, but instead sat behind a laptop on her desk, typing a quick e-mail to her brother in Osea.

Rena wasn't incredibly popular here at the base, but that was mostly because she hadn't really talked to any of the pilots. They were either too antisocial or too friendly for her, and save for Erick, none had really bothered to try and talk to her. Even Cid, one of the most social people at the base, seemed to avoid her. At first, she thought it was because she was a girl, but after seeing Jaime and Susan become so popular, she figured that maybe it was because she was so young. Rena decided that it had to be that. Rena was the youngest person on the roster, and the special coloration she wanted on her jet, a MiG-21-93 air-to-air fighter (and one of the last of its kind), reflected that. Also, as the only girl in the Temnota Dragunov flight, she was even more singled out.

As Rena finished her e-mail, there was a slight tapping at her door. She didn't really feel like talking to anyone else, so she slowly closed the laptop and turned it off, and then began to crawl into bed. However, when the person on the other side pounded harder, Rena realized that maybe this person didn't want to come in and ask a question. A million terrible thoughts ran through the girl's head, all of them worse then the last. So, she did the only thing she could do; she crawled _under_ her bed.

The door was pounded on once more, but then silence. She heard a click, then a faint hissing sound, like a bullet leaving a gun. The security card reader short-circuited, and the door slid open a little bit. Rena watched hands come through the door, almost ten of them, then pulled on the door as one. The door's gears gave up under the pressure, and as the door opened Rena took a good luck at ten sets of feet as one of them came in.

"She's not here," he said.

"Damn, she must be in the break room on this floor," a second speculated.

"All right, the rest of you go on there," the first one ordered. "I'll stay here and wait to see if she returns,"

"Yes, sir!" Nine sets of feet left, leaving only one that looked around the room. They stepped to the bed, to the desk, to the door, and around again. Eventually, they stopped at the bed, turned around, and stayed like that. Rena began to panic and think that the man would eventually look under the bed, and prayed that he wouldn't. She almost breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the bed creak, indicating that the man had sat down on it. She then watched the two feet rise up and disappear.

_The bastard's on my bed!_ She thought glumly. There was no time to lose, though; she had to tell the others. There would be only one chance, but Rena had to take it. Bracing herself, Rena aimed herself at the door, counted to three, then moved. She scrabbled out from under the bed and stood up running, ignoring the shouts from behind her. She remembered that the rest of the men had turned left down the hall, so she went to the right, banging her hand against an alarm as she did so.

Klaxons blared all across the base, deafening the sound of gunshots as they streaked by the young girl's head. Rena neither saw nor heard these bullets, and ran toward a staircase. She had to choose up or down, but when she heard footsteps above her, she ran downstairs, into another red-lit hallway…

---

Erick and Susan were already standing when the alarms went off, and when the door to Erick's office burst open, both pilots ducked under his desk. Gunfire rang out, cutting a line where the two were sitting seconds ago. Erick, despite this, grinned. He looked at Susan, flashed a bright smile, and pulled out the pistol in his back holster. He turned off the safety and stood up.

He counted six soldiers. Before they had a chance to fire, Erick fired off three rapid shots. The first two impacted both their targets in the forehead, piercing the helmet and killing them instantly. The third, however, hit the Kevlar vest of its target, stopping the bullet cold. Erick noted this subconsciously, and aimed again. He fired until the clip was empty; he fired so fast, in fact, that the soldiers couldn't comprehend the rate of fire. The clip emptied into three of the remaining four survivors. They entered helmets, eyes, and mouths, killing each target in cold blood.

The last soldier, instead of firing, panicked and threw his gun to the floor. He turned and ran back to the door, taking a last, panicked look at Erick as the Colonel reloaded with pistol without a hitch. By the time he pulled back the barrel, the man was gone. Erick didn't let this bother him. Aiming carefully, he fired a single bullet into the hallway. The shell bounced along the metal in the halls, finally giving the running soldier a sledgehammer blow to the brain, knocking him dead with sheer force.

Erick grabbed Susan's hand and pulled her along, running out of the office. They encountered another group of soldiers as they rounded a corner…

---

Chris watched the soldiers spread out a little, taking cover behind boxes, jets, and equipment. Just as the last one found cover, a group of the security force ran in, caught sight of the men, and opened fire with their M-16s. Bullets bounced off everything, and a few shots were lucky, but the open ground of the hangar door gave the FA soldiers little place to hide. Bullets screamed at them, cutting many of them down, before Chris came up with a plan of action.

As bullets flew, Chris opened the canopy and grabbed both his sword and gun. He took a deep breath, and then leaped out the jet's cockpit.

As he landed, he cracked the sheath of his blade across a soldier's head, knocking him cold. Without hesitating, he tossed the sword in the air, spun about, and popped off three shots, killing another soldier. He then dropped the pistol, caught the falling blade, unsheathed it, and turned about. Before the pistol hit the ground, Chris made a downward cut on a soldier charging at him with a bayonet, catching his neck. Blood spewed.

There was a lance of gunfire aimed at Chris. The pilot dropped to the ground, grabbed the pistol, and fired off three more rounds. The 9mm shells didn't penetrate the offender's armor, but it stunned him long enough for Chris to cap him in the head. He stood up and looked right at three more soldiers. The enemy men opened fire.

Time slowed.

Time stopped.

Chris flipped the blade to where it pointed backwards in his hand. He lifted the blade in the air, catching a bullet with the flat edge. He spun the blade up, down, sideways, and backward, managing to hit all the lethal shells aimed at him. One, however, sliced its way into his left shoulder. He didn't scream in pain, but he dropped his gun. He ignored the pain itself and charged the enemies. He cut, stabbed, and slashed, and sent three separate fountains of blood into the air.

There was only one more soldier targeting Chris. Without thinking, Chris hurled the blade at him, watching as it impaled itself in the chest, running him through. Chris ran up and grabbed the sword, jerked it out of the soldier, and ran past the gunfight. Halfway down the hall, he dropped his sword, no longer able to withstand the pain in his shoulder. He leaned against the wall, clutching his shoulder, cringing in pain. Blood seeped between his fingers, and he tried to continue forward.

---

"I told yous not to follow me!" Erick shouted, coming from behind his cover of the wall and unloading a clip from his "acquired" Beretta into a crowd of soldiers. "What now, bitch? WHAT NOW?" He dove back behind cover and dropped the gun and pulling out two MP5s slung on his back. Susan watched down the other hall, an FN P90 in her hands, taking shots at enemies that rounded the corner. It seemed as if they were surrounded on all sides, with no way to escape.

"God _Damnit_!" Erick yelled, spraying the hallway with shells, forcing the soldiers to run and hide in corridors. "Why won't you just give the hell up!" He emptied both guns before dropping them to the ground. He had one last trick: a fragmentation grenade he stole from a dead soldier. He got Susan's attention, jerking a thumb to the opposing hallway, and then held up the grenade. Nodding, the girl reloaded the gun and counted to three. On three, Erick tossed the grenade, and as soon as they heard the explosion they hit the ground running.

---

Rena was hiding. Earlier, when she could still run, she witnessed twenty of the base's guard get slaughtered, and the act alone made Rena almost die of shock. It was shocking enough that they were shooting at her, but when she saw those men die, she lost it. That's why she was hiding under a staircase, far away from the battle, or so she thought.

A gunshot ricocheted off of the metal staircase. Rena yelped and ducked her head under her arms. She felt something cold press against her head.

"We found the target," A muffled voice said. "Commencing extermination," The gun pushed harder, and Rena cried to herself. "Sorry, kid: Nothing personal,"

There was a gunshot. But the bullet was not for Rena.

Rei Fukai came from around the corner, charging the group of three men that held Rena at gunpoint. The first shot he fired went straight through the pistol-wielding soldier's head. The other two turned around and fired at Rei, but he was too fast. He shot the second one in the eye and kicked the third one against the wall. He put the gun up against the man's temple and pulled the trigger. The body fell to the ground with a thud.

Rei turned around and holstered his pistol. He walked to the staircase and looked at the cowering girl. Rena slowly looked up at him.

"Let's go," he said. "They're still after you. We'll find a place to hide for the duration," Rena slowly nodded and stood up. Together the two walked up the staircase and opened the electronic door. As they walked through, Rena looked back at the three bodies, then sighed and walked away from them.

---

Erick and Susan rounded a corner, only to be unpleasantly surprised to see the business end of an AK-47. With nothing but empty weapons, they only stared at it, expecting death, when they noticed the grim face of one of the FA pilots: RM Raneses.

"It's about time, Colonel," he said. "Follow me: we're using this hall as a base of operations. I'll explain as we move on," Nodding, the other two followed RM as he began to explain.

"They struck everywhere at once," he began. "There actually aren't that many of them – only about 200 or so – but they're getting reinforcements from outside: an air squadron of Blackhawk choppers are on their way as we speak, loaded down with extra men, " he turned a corner, and behold, there was the rest of the FA pilots. "We're still connected to the phones in the base, and we have men pinned down everywhere. Everywhere from the Bridge all the way down to the reserve generator rooms have been penetrated, but so far, few areas have been captured,"

Raneses walked into his room, coming back out a few seconds later with two M-16A2s, each with three clips. "We're going to strike back all across the base at once," he explained, handing them the guns. "These are mine; please give them back later,"

"When do we counterattack?" Susan asked.

"I've suggested in about five minutes, but the decision is Erick's," RM replied.

"Right," Erick said. "…We'll move out two minutes; Make sure everyone is loaded up and ready to go. We'll push these guys out, then take to the skies and burn some choppers,"

---

Rena and Rei sat inside an empty room, listening as more soldiers passed by. It was the third patrol through this hall.

"We're stuck," Rena whispered. "Unless you want to fight it out," To that, Rei lifted his pistol next to his face.

"Then we'll fight it out," he replied. "Stay close and follow me," He gripped the doorknob tighter, counted to three, and turned. The door responded by pushing outward, ejecting the room's two occupants. Rei whirled around the door and pointed down the hallway, eyeing two men with their back to him. Rather than fire and give away their position, however, Rei grabbed Rena by the wrist and led her down the hallway in the opposite direction.

As they came to an intersection, Rei stopped. He peered around the corner and spotted two more men making their way toward them. As it so happened, these two men were also going down the hallway that led to an elevator; one that would take them straight to the hangar. It was a long shot, but Rei figured that he had the element of surprise if they just sat at the corner and waited.

Rena, meanwhile, watched behind them for any sudden movements. She needed her laptop right now, or even a PDA, because her nerves were shot and electronics tended to ease them. She watched the two guards walk off in the opposite direction and turn a corner. Simultaneously, she heard Rei spring into action. He grabbed the nearest soldier by the face and slammed him into the wall, spun around, and grabbed the second by the arm. He broke the soldier's arm and pushed him into a wall. Flipping the pistol around, Rei whipped the guy in the temple with a blow from the small arm, knocking him out. Before the second guy got up, Rena made her way forward and kicked him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Rei walked up, ripped off the helmet, and whipped the guy in the back of the head.

It was over in ten seconds. Rei picked up the two MP5s and handed one to Rena. They made their way down the hall.

---

Erick checked the two Lugers strapped onto his side. He nodded, and looked at the rest of the squadron behind him.

It had been decided that the squadrons would distribute weapons based on what they did. Between standard-issue side-arms, stolen weapons, and various gun collections, they were looking good. The Temnota squadrons were armed with AK-47s, and were to be the primary assault force behind Erick. Air Ixiom had a mixed bag of various Osean and Erusan guns, ranging from the H&K-G11 machine pistol to the custom-made, beautifully crafted .50 Desert Eagle carried by Raneses.

One of the pilots walked up to Erick, a Benelli 12-gauge on his back and an M-16 in his hands. He was Mike Durao, Erick's escort, along with an injured Chris, who lost the pistol but still had his katana. He was close-range weapon support.

"All right, kids," Erick began. "We've successfully made it to the hangar. Because of the… situation, I figure that this will be the big firefight,"

By that, Erick meant that not a single enemy soldier had been encountered in the halls between their starting points all the way to a hallway leading into the hangar, one still stained with Chris's blood. The security force had reported from various locations that they had found no one, but there had been no report from Rei and Rena. Erick hoped they were safe, but it was more likely that they were dead. Erick shook his head and took a breath.

"Ok… here we go!"

---

The elevator doors opened. Rei stood to one side and Rena the other, both breathing heavily. Their MP5s were empty, and they been reduced to using pistols. Since the hallway incident, it had been an almost nonstop gunfight all the way to the hangar elevator. Now, as the door opened, Rei heard gunfire explode from the other end of the vast room.

"All right, let's go!" Rei said to Rena. The girl nodded, and together the two pulled out their pistols and faced outside, looking at the backs of about fifty men. They immediately opened fire with their pistols, but most of the shots were glancing blows. The two began running into and down the hangar, searching for their fighters. He and Rena had agreed that there were probably enemy vessels not too far from the base, or air support was on its way. They wouldn't be able to use the catapults in such short notice, but the runway was relatively clear.

Rei found his S-37 first, and climbed up the ladder hanging off the side. The tank was full – the fighters always had maxed-out fuel – and his fighter was ready to go. He began the pre-flight checks quickly. Rena, meanwhile, found her special MiG fighter waiting on her. The small jet was housed away in the back of the hangar, but it was special to her nonetheless. She opened the cockpit and sat inside, also beginning the pre-flight checks.

---

Erick and the others had taken cover behind everything they could find – crates, jets, live ammo, anything. Erick pulled out a pistol, grinned, adjusted his hat, and stood up from behind some crates.

"Hey, you!" he shouted to one of the men looking at a fighter. "Yeah, you!" The soldier started to fire without hesitation, but Erick simply aimed a little and fired a shell right into the soldier's left eye.

The gunfire erupted all at once. Soldiers came from nowhere, as if anticipating this, and began shooting at the Freelance pilots.

Chris snuck around and managed to get behind one. He lifted his blade and made a sideways slash, severing the head from the neck. Blood sprayed on him like a shower head.

Erick aimed slowly and took shots, but each one was a hit.

Mike used his M-16 like a sniper rifle, using single-shot mode and taking shot after shot.

The entire Temnota squadron stood up as one and opened a continuous stream of fire. Sparks flew from aircraft as blood erupted from enemy soldiers. None of the bullets penetrated the aircraft, fortunately, but it still hurt the pilots to damage their own jets.

Air Ixiom stood up one at a time, letting out a clip of shells before ducking and reloading while another took his or her place.

But it wasn't all good. Tim Jung, or Timer, was the first to go down. A shell lanced into his side and another grazed his face. He fell to the ground, bleeding. A nearby pilot from Air Ixiom began to tend to his wounds.

Susan was next. A round nearly shot off her ear, but the second slammed into her stomach, taking her down. But she was alive.

As the battle went on, Erick made out the increasing sound of jet engines. Looking behind the troops, he saw that a Su-47 was taxiing out onto the runway, heading straight for the hangar. He looked at the pilot, who only saluted. It was Rei. Far in the back, a MiG-21 was taking off, as well. Rena's fighter stuck out, but for her it was okay. Erick grinned at the two as they made it to the runway unharmed and unnoticed.

But then a soldier shot off Erick's hat.

The Colonel was back in the battle. He ducked under the crates and reloaded his pistol. Three clips were still on his belt, and he still had a second pistol.

"Oh, no you did not," he whispered, picking up his hat on the ground. A bullet hole sliced cleanly through it. Grumbling, he picked up his hat and put it on again. He crawled back up and behind the crate, took a deep breath, and stood. At the exact same time, a group of reinforcements came from the elevator, armed with M-16s. Erick really hoped they were good guys. But when Rena's MiG-21 got in their way, they opened fire on it, striking one of the missiles on the left wing's rack.

Chris was unfortunate enough to be right in front of the fighter as it prematurely launched the missile. It careened down the vast hangar, heading straight for the swordsman. He narrowed his eyes and jumped in the air, landed on the missile itself, and pushed down on it as he leaped off and came down behind an enemy soldier. The missile flew into the air and struck the ceiling right above the insurgents.

Chris stabbed backward with his blade, twisted his arm, and lifted. His katana cut the man in two, literally. This attracted the attention of two nearby men, but Chris was gone again. He had managed to make it out of sight.

One intuitive soldier pulled out a grenade and tossed it in Temnota's general direction. Alfred spotted the small object just in time to scream "MOVE" to his squad mates. They scattered in all directions, taking cover behind fighters and other objects, but one pilot wasn't so lucky. The pilot turned around and began to run before tripping over his own two feet. The grenade landed next to his face. He tried to get to his feet, but it didn't matter. The grenade went off, and he was lucky that the first thing to happen was for his head to pop like a cork.

Erick grumbled and let loose a few more shells, emptying his clip. His gun jammed, forcing him to duck and fix it. He didn't notice the soldier that had snuck in from the left, gun pointed at the Colonel's exposed neck. However, what the soldier didn't notice was the man hiding on the other side of the crates. As Erick fixed the gun, the soldier cocked his MP. However, Mike jumped over the crates and landed in front of the soldier, 12-gauge pointed at his face.

"Good night," he whispered, pulling the trigger. Bone and brain matter scattered, and the top of the soldier's head popped off. The only thing left was a gaping mouth. As the body fell, Mike took a shot on his exposed back, piercing a lung. Wheezing, he went down.

"Damnit, this isn't working," Erick muttered. "We're pilots, not gunmen,"

---

Rena's fighter, minus one missile, was loaded on to Catapult One, whilst Yukikaze's fighter was moved to Catapult Two. The final flight checks were made by the (now heavily guarded) crews.

"Okay, Rena," a voice said. "You've never experienced something quite like this before, so just relax. Let the fighter coast out, then put it under its own power," she nodded. "Good girl… okay, Dragunov 6, launch!"

Rena's head was thrown back into her seat as the fighter was pushed forward like a bullet.

---

"Sir, a fighter is launching from the catapult on this side," a man observed. A young soldier, on board a submarine parked outside the base, looked through binoculars. "It is approaching the end rapidly,"

"Then let's give the pilot something he'll never forget," the man next to him muttered. He opened his laptop and typed in one command.

Execute.

---

As Rena's fighter approached the end of the tunnel, something told her to push the afterburner. She started the fighter early and pushed the throttle up as much as it would go. As soon as the engine behind her glowed with its afterburner-strength thrust, the area just ahead of her lit bright orange. All around her, the magnets began going haywire, tugging her fighter in all directions. She struggled to keep control of her jet and looked ahead of her. The area was covered in smoke, but it was obvious what happened.

_Catapult One was destroyed._ And she was flying right into the debris. She was doomed to die before her first sortie, unless she could do something. Her fighter lurched hard to the bottom left of the tunnel, and she reflexively pulled as hard up and to the right as she could. The bottom of her fighter began to scrape against the magnets below, jolting the fighter. She desperately looked for a way out.

There, at the top right, was an opening. It was small, but her fighter could fit through it. But the pull of the magnets went haywire again, this time pulling her to the top left of the tunnel. She continued pulling to the right, and as she neared the entrance her fighter managed to break the hold the magnets had on it. She screamed through the tiny opening, almost clipping her wings.

Rena gasped as she made it out of the tunnel. She was alive. Yukikaze burst from his tunnel seconds later, and joined up with Rena…

…Meanwhile, in the dead of night, gunfire rang out…

---

**To Be Continued**

**Next: "Mobius"**


	5. Mobius

It was the dawn of a new day.

They sat on top of the tallest building on the base, staring out at the sunlight, watching the rays filter through the snow that had settled around the base the night before. There were three of them, two of which were dressed in a flight uniform whilst the third wore a black-on-black outfit, a cigarette stuck in his mouth. These were the former pilots of the Freelance Alliance Barracuda Air Fleet. Of course, that fleet existed no longer.

A chill wind blew against the pilots. The leader's hair flew backward, flowing with the wind. He ignored the pain of the chill, while the others shivered slightly. Instead, he puffed again on the cigarette and stared into the wind, gray eyes chasing the source of the sunlight. The pupils shrunk to dots as he stared at the sun. The soft echo of words was heard upon the pilot's breath. Both the others looked at the gray-eyed man, but said nothing.

No words were necessary.

---

**Freelance Alliance: The Sky's Angels**

**Chapter: 06**

"**Mobius"**

**Caelum Umbra – 0800 Hours – March 28th, 2007**

Click, click, click…

The sound of fingers against a keyboard echoed in the soft, grey room that served as this pilot's domicile. The overhead lights flickered as a fly met its unfortunate doom against the hot lamp, but it didn't deter the sound that continued to filter through the pilot's ears as he sat-lay on his bunk, the window next to him overlooking the hangar.

Click, click, click…

About the room, various bits and pieces of memorabilia were scattered. A naval jet here, a destroyer model there, shell casings and giant robot models. Evangelion Unit-01 stood on the pilot's desk, leaning a hand against the _Mirai_. Next to those, a small model of an F-35C was half-built, the paint on the current construction still wet.

Click, click, click…

DVDs and VHS tapes adorned a small shelf, next to hundreds of issues of manga and comics. Wolverine vied with the Justice League for dominance, who combined forces to drive back Haruko and her FLCL gang. Rows of soundtracks rested sideways in the shelf above, and the one below held volumes of the pilot's original writings.

The soft knocking of a hand against a door brought the pilot out of his writing. Looking up, he stared at the infernal door, annoyed at anyone who might be interrupting him. Sighing, he placed the laptop to the side, saving and closing out his text editor. He swung his legs around and adjusted his dark gray flight suit before walking up to the door. He opened it slowly, but his stern gaze faltered into a warm smile at the figure that entered.

She was probably no more than 20, with bright azure eyes and long, slightly curly blonde hair. Her face was a bright smile, one that livened the entire room. The pilot let the girl in, watching as she flipped the chair at the desk around, sitting on it backwards. She crossed her arms and placed them on the chair, beaming.

"How's it going, Jack?" she asked casually, as if they had all the time in the world.

"It's been a while, Sasha," the pilot, Jack, replied, adjusting his glasses. He walked back to his bed and sat down on it, looking at the girl. "Almost four years, am I right?"

"Something like that," Sasha confirmed, twisting around in the chair to face the pilot. "Four years and some months, but I've forgotten. I've been flying, Jack…" she stood and spread her arms to her sides, her eyes glowing with happiness. "Flying! I never dreamed it would be so… exhilarating! Joining the ISAF Air Force was the best career move I could make!" she lowered her arms and winked at the young man. "And I have you to thank for that…" she paused, then smiled. "Goosey, my love…" the pilot laughed.

"How long it's been since I heard that!" he said. "That phrase was stuck with me all through the academy because of you!"

"I know," Sasha replied, proud of the fact. "And… what did your callsign become?"

"Wild Goose, of course," Jack admitted, smiling. He stood up and faced the young lady as she put a hand to her hip. "Goose and Harper…" he chuckled. "God, didn't we make quite a pair?"

"Which brings me to why I'm here," Sasha said, her energy suddenly subdued. "You'll never guess why, though," Jack stared, suddenly concerned for his younger friend. "You see, ISAF and Erusea deemed it necessary for a group of reinforcements to come after Captain Galanodel's… miserable failure," Jack winced at the words; around the base, the Barracuda destruction was a touchy subject, especially around the said Captain.

"Go on…" he said, pausing.

"Well, they agreed that a detachment of a current squadron would be sent to this airbase, to supplement the Thanatos squadrons' overall performance. They deemed that an attachment of twenty or so pilots would be enough to fill the gaps of the Barracuda pilots that were lost," she smiled wryly. "So, they sent members of the best squadron on-hand," Jack's eyes widened. He shot a glance to the Raptor model on a shelf, adorned with a famous symbol.

"You mean…" he began. Sasha nodded.

"That's right!" she confirmed. "I'm a member, and the first pilot to land for, the three Mobius Squadron detachments headed for this airbase!"

---

At the precise moment those words left the pilot's mouth, nine other jets appeared over the horizon. Every fighter was different; even fighters of the same design would be different in their own way, made to suit the pilot's flying style. The lead jet was a gray-and-white Wyvern, the only other of its shade in existence. The red letters EASA reflected against the sunlight as they broke the horizon. However, on the underside of the flattened tail-wings, the most familiar symbol in the whole of Erusea was emblazoned.

The colors were gray, blue, and black. A sky-blue field was the round center for a black-and-blue surrounding layer, with extensions of a circle present on the top and bottom of the circle. The second layer, which of dark-blue had the designation "118th-Task Force Squadron", written in black. The center of the circle had within it a black/gray/blue object best described as a ribbon. Underneath all of this, written in black, was a single word.

**MOBIUS**.

The lead Wyvern slowed, letting the other jets streak past it in a haze of engine trails. The jets broke off into three separate Delta formations, tight V's, which in turn formed three points of a triangle. The Wyvern used its flight to alternate the triangle, bringing the point up and ahead of everyone else. They reformed the triangle into the reverse of what it was before.

The Wyvern pilot uttered a command, and a video window opened to the bottom-right of his HUD. Seconds later, the grim face of Joseph Burns appeared, staring back at the pilot. His face was heavy-set, dull, the result of talking with another pilot for hours to detail a report of tragedy. The Mobius pilot ignored the face, and made a single curt statement.

"This is Mobius Squadron. We are coming in for a landing."

Joseph nodded, unable to do anything else; he knew how badly these men were needed. The channel cut out, and the Mobius pilot barked an order to his Wyvern to begin the landing procedures. The jet's on-board AI reacted appropriately, taking control for the pilot and beginning the operations on his own. Behind him, many other pilots were doing this manually, slowing down behind their leader and making their own checks.

Meanwhile, back on the ground, three former pilots watched as the ace pilots prepared for landing. The one in the middle flicked his cigarette and stood, walking back to the stairwell on the other side of the roof. The other two watched him go before looking back ahead, watching as the Wyvern slowed to a crawl in the air, its rear legs touching the runway first. Gently, the bird landed on all three sets of wheels.

As the Wyvern taxied off of the runway, the second, third, and fourth jets began their landing procedures. They landed two at a time in perfect synchronization; no one was off, even by a millimeter. It was perfect. As Joseph watched the jets land, he noticed that it was almost _too_ perfect; it was as if these pilots had been trained from birth to be as good as they were now.

_Then again…_ Joseph thought darkly._ Somehow, all those stories about Mobius would make more sense; that kind of perfection doesn't seem possible from training alone. It's as if they were _bred _for this line of work._ The Thanatos leader shuddered slightly, but then ignored the feeling he had; it wasn't his place to think about it. Instead, he turned his attention to making the necessary arrangements to accommodate the new arrivals.

Outside his office, Jack and Sasha walked out toward the front door of the low-rise building. Together, they stepped out into the cold of the northern winds, the Thanatos pilot intent on greeting the heroes of Erusia. He almost left his friend behind in his rush to meet the Wyvern ahead of him. The pilot of the jet had let the computer start finishing for it, and had jumped out of the jet. He was brushing back his hair as the young pilots approached.

"Ah," he said, looking at the girl. "Lieutenant, it's good to see that you made it safely," he looked about. "I don't see your jet around,"

"It's in Hangar Q, next to Airman David's," Sasha replied calmly. She looked back and smiled at her friend. "This is the pilot I was telling you about earlier," she declared. "Airman First Class Jack David, callsign 'Wild Goose'," the older pilot nodded and lifted a hand toward the young man.

"It's always a pleasure to meet my men's friends," he said firmly. Jack reached out and clasped the other pilot's hand in a firm handshake… and nearly had to relent from it. It was cold, icy as steel… Almost as if the hand wasn't _human_, but at the same time he could feel a twinge of warmth that came from the capillaries in the pilot's fingers.

"Y-yes," he said, slightly bewildered. "It's… an honor, to meet a member of Mobius squadron," he paused as the two let go. "If I may, sir, how often did you fly alongside… _him?_" to this, the older pilot laughed.

"Back when I was still a member of Omega squadron," was the reply. "From his first sortie in Operation Umbrella all the way to the end, when he flew into Megalith to destroy it, I was flying next to Mobius One," he chuckled. "Too bad I wasn't alongside him when he escaped; before the end, I was finally shot down by a Yellow,"

"Oh?" Jack wondered. "It took a Yellow to shoot you down?"

"That's right," the Mobius pilot claimed, nodding. "And not just any Yellow… his callsign was Yellow Seven… yes, I believe that was it," he shrugged. "Not only that, but it turned out that guy was once a pilot of ISAF; I even met the guy once. I believe at the time he was known as Lieutenant…"

---

"…Galanodel," Joseph began. "Do you recognize that pilot?" The former pilot looked at the direction pointed out. He eyed the taller pilot talking to one of the Thanatos pilots and an unfamiliar girl. As the three relaxed into casual stances and chatted, the black-clad pilot shrugged.

"He's a Mobius pilot," Glen muttered. "Why do you ask?"

"He should look familiar to you," Joseph replied. He drew a '2' in the air. Glen's eyes widened slightly as he nodded. "You know what he and the rest of ISAF think of you," To this the dark pilot laughed.

"They know nothing," he whispered. "They never will, either," he turned on his heel. "He's coming. I'll be in my room… if you need me, send someone after," with this, Glen walked off, lighting another cigarette with his gloved hands. Joseph stared after him for only a second before turning to greet the three pilots, putting on his best professional face.

"Greetings, Commander," he began. "I am Joseph Burns, Major and leader of the Thanatos squadron. Allow me to lead you and the rest of your fine squadron about the base. Your lieutenant has already taken her own version of a tour, and has memorized the layout. Your fighters will be stationed…" he paused. "On the other side of the base, along the south side," he motioned. "I believe you will find our quarters pleasant enough for your stay. Follow me to…"

They went out of earshot of the two other pilots walking up behind them. They watched glumly as the Thanatos leader was reduced to nothing but a tour guide. They had overheard the report from ISAF High Command as they contacted Joe.

_Treat Mobius Squadron with the utmost respect. _They had said. _They are the most superior squadron of pilots on Earth right now. That means they're even better than you, Burns. Treat them like that._

The two looked at each other and nodded. They turned around and followed the former leader of the Navy back into the facility. They caught up with the young pilot and followed him silently, once again knowing that words were pointless. They followed his path to the back of the base, past his room, and out the rear door. He went across the base and into a hangar, where two ruined fighters sat.

Sitting down in the back, he and the other two began their work…

---

**Caelum Umbra – 1700 Hours – March 28th, 2007**

His name, as it turned out, was William. He was the impromptu leader of this Mobius Squadron detachment, as his wing leader couldn't be bothered; something about preparing for an Operation "Katina" or something. He didn't know, and it wasn't his place to discuss matters of top-secret projects. However, it _was_ his place as a member of Mobius Squadron, to be the best he could be. He knew he was better than all these Thanatos pilots. It was an insult to be called the "Barracuda Wing Replacements". Instead, he saw it as an upgrade.

"Those who fall are weak." That was a phrase he learned once in life, and one he stuck to. The air fleet was destroyed because they were weak, he reasoned, not because they were outgunned and overpowered. Mobius One had faced the same situation many times, and each time he pulled out unscathed and with ammo to spare. It wasn't because of numbers; it was because he was strong.

So when he heard that they were keeping these ex-pilots around, he was insulted. They said that it was in the event the Navy could be reformed. He saw it as a sad excuse to keep a dream alive. He had to find these pilots and convince them that they should leave the game, that they should quit the Freelance Alliance. It was his duty as a pilot.

He entered the hangar actually _reserved_ for the ex-pilots. He saw the three figures, the former shells of the Navy, huddled in the break room. Three cups of coffee sat on the table as they appeared to discuss three separate sheets of paper. Frowning with disdain, William walked up to the door and opened it without knocking. Instantly, two of the pilots stood, one with short black hair and the other short and blond. He read the names on their uniforms: "Viper"; "Hurricane". He frowned at the third figure, clad in black.

"So, you are the… pilots," he muttered, his voice having a slight twinge of disgust.

"Yeah," Hurricane replied. "What of it?"

"I heard you were about," William said, noting as how the pilot's eyes were red with lack of sleep. "I just wanted to see the 'tragic heroes' of the former Navy," he said. He exhaled sharply. "I see nothing much to look at," There was a pause as he noted the pilot's reactions. Viper appeared slightly annoyed at the insult, while Hurricane remained unfazed.

"Why are you here?" he asked. "Really, why are you here?"

"To convince you to leave," William replied, annoyed with the questioning. "It's obvious you're doing nothing but sapping ISAFs money. You should do us a favor and leave," he grinned slightly as he watched the sitting pilot shift in his seat, his shoulders rotating. "No one else has the courage, see, to tell you that what's going on here is nothing but sad sympathy. Sympathy for… _weak_ pilots," he shrugged. "The enemy culled you from the strong arm that is the FA. You should leave and do us all a favor,"

"…is that what you have to say?" Viper asked. "To provoke us and judge us because we lost a fight?"

"You lost seven people," William retorted. "Mobius 1 only lost seven people because the FEAF used Stonehenge. You lost to common fighters. This tells me you're weak,"

"There were _seventy_ of them!" Hurricane protested. "That, plus some thirty-odd cruisers and ten carriers!"

"Mobius 1 took out an entire fleet and its air fleet by himself," was the argument.

"Not EVERYONE is Mobius 1!" Hurricane shouted.

"That's enough," a voice suddenly whispered. Three sets of eyes turned to the figure sitting in the chair. Pushing against the table, the pilot pushed back the chair and stood. He turned around and raised his head, his gray eyes staring at William. The Mobius pilot's eyes widened as he took in the features of the pilot. Instantly, he went into a defensive stance.

"_You!" _he hissed. He lifted his fists. "Glen Galanodel, the traitor! I knew that the FA employed men from the former FEAF, but I never thought they'd hire _you_, especially after shooting so many of our own men down!" He tensed his muscles, ready to pounce.

"William," Glen whispered. "William, that was a long time ago; I was forced to pilot against ISAF… it wasn't a choice. I didn't want to shoot you down, but they would have killed…" he paused.

"They would have… what? Killed _you_?" William snorted, taking an offensive stance.

"You don't understand," Glen hissed. "You and ISAF will never understand,"

"All I understand is that you are a traitor to the ISAF nations! You are guilty of _treason_!" William shouted. He took a step forward and swung straight at Glen's face. There was a flash of gray as the naval pilot sidestepped the blow, his black hair flowing. In a rage, William took another step forward and came around with a left hook. Again, however, Glen just stepped, and he was out of the way.

"This is pointless, William," he whispered. "Please, I don't want to fight you," Glen stood still, his black hair shadowing his eyes from view as he looked down. "Just leave us alone…" He didn't watch as William seethed with anger at the so-called traitor. "Besides, William… if being shot down equals being weak, then aren't you weaker than me, as it was I that shot you down?"

William's eyes widened as he remembered that fateful day; when a single pilot in a Yellow Su-37 Terminator pulled a loop and fired two Sidewinders, both of them impacting the wings of the Raptor that the Mobius pilot was flying. Indeed, he was weak… but to him, he had improved. Smirking, he stood tall and pointed at Glen.

"Just know this, _Captain_," he spat. "I may have been weak at the time, but I'm far stronger than you'll ever be now. If you ever fly in the same skies as me, I _will_ exact my revenge upon you, for me and for all of ISAF," he expected an indignant action from the pilot, but instead all he got was a smirk in return.

"Then so be it," Glen replied hoarsely. Turning around, he sat back down at the table and continued looking over whatever it was that the three pilots had been analyzing before William had interrupted them. The Mobius pilot turned around on a heel and marched off, the hatred within him kept only in check by his sheer force of will. He brushed by a surprised Jack, who had walked in on the tail end of the conversation. The young JSF pilot stared at Glen, only one thought running through his mind.

_Glen's a traitor?_

_--- _

**Caelum Umbra – 0900 Hours – March 31st, 2007**

The past two days had passed without a hitch. Life moved on for everyone, including the Barracuda pilots.

However, today was a special case. In order to test the compatibility Thanatos and Mobius had, they would practice joint-squadron flight maneuvers, followed by a mock air battle between two mixed units of Mobius and Thanatos. The jet of choice would be the Hawk T.1A jets that were stored in a reserve hangar at the rear of the base. They were "armed" with rocket-pod shaped objects, which fired tracers instead of missiles or bullets. Five tracers on one jet equaled a death.

After suiting up and being briefed on the situation, the two teams were divided. They were divvied up between Ghost and Spectre flights; both renamed "A" and "B" flights. Joseph was going to include the Barracuda pilots, but they were no where to be found; that, and the fact that William seemed to be deeply opposed to the matter clenched the teams into two flights of about nine each.

The Hawks were loaded up and took off from the runway in fours. The two flights gathered on opposing ends of the base and were given a set of digital rings to fly through. Joseph and his flight A (which included Juan, the pilot of the Thanatos Wyvern) were the first to get through, getting through the rings in an average of 17.59 seconds.

As Jack watched Flight A do their runs, he felt a growing sense of envy; the Ghost flight was definitely the superior flight in Thanatos, having the four pilots who took out the enemy Alpha fleet alone. He wondered how they would fare against the Nirvana fleet, but neglected to ask. Instead, his muscles tensed as he heard that Flight B would be the next in line to fly through the rings. He looked to his right at Sasha's Hawk, only to see her waving back at him.

The rings appeared on his HUD… and boy, were there a lot of them. He watched the fighters each go in, about seven seconds apart. When his turn came up, he was already in line to go through them.

He passed through the first set of rings with ease, pulling into a loose right bank that began to make its way down. The course didn't get harder, but definitely a bit more hair-raising, as the course went between two sets of hangars and over the runway. Jack noticed that his fighter almost scraped the ground and the sides of the hangars with his underbelly and wings. Trying desperately not to panic, he accelerated and brought the training jet into a steep climb. His altimeter read 5000, 6000, 6500, and 7000 before taking the jet into a tight loop. It leveled off at 5000 feet before again diving hard toward the ground, this time going along the runway.

Jack almost let loose a scream as his jet almost touched the hard concrete of the runway. The rings traveled along the length of the runway, edging progressively lower, until he passed through the last ring at 9 feet AGL. The rings then pulled up casually back into the ending ring, which was the same as the starting ring.

Sighing with relief, Jack read his time; 18.46 seconds. By the end, the flight's average would be 19.91 seconds.

---

"Beta 5, pull up!"

"It's too late for me! Damnit!"

"This is Alpha Leader; confirmed kill on a Hawk. All fighters, go into formation Delta and prepare for a counterattack,"

After refueling, the fighters launched again, this time with the two slowest times in their flights eliminated from the war game. They took two minutes to prepare, then went into their mock air battle. So far, things had been going in favor of Beta squadron; William turned out to be a superior tactician than Joseph, who seemed to rely (at least to William) on individual skill rather than team skill. The Mobius wingman grinned as an Alpha went down; they were down to three: Joseph, Nayden, and Juan.

"Looks like it's just us, guys," Nayden commented. "Three Alphas versus seven Betas," he chuckled. "Well, then, let's just show them what we're capable of," he grinned as Joseph opened a reply.

"Roger that, Mas," he said. "Ghosts, this is Darkide. Mas, form up on my right. Crystal, get to my left. We're going in hard and fast," There was a silence that befell the three as they joined into a line.

William's eyes widened as the three fighters joined for only a second before suddenly exploding into motion. The Hawks seemed to elongate as they accelerated to incredible speeds. They seemed to phase in and out of existence, suddenly appearing here, there, behind and all around. William opened fire on one that passed by his view, but the tracers seemed to go through the jet.

Suddenly, he was on the losing side. Tracers opened fire all around him, flanking him and cutting down his two wingmen. Behind him, a lance of tracer fire knocked out the other three. It left only him, and three Ghosts. But then, as if a miracle, all three of the fighters appeared suddenly in front of him. He grinned and opened fire.

Unfortunately for him, the jet looped, coming up behind him in almost perfect mockery of a time long ago. William panicked as he suddenly pulled up and right hard.

"No!" he screamed at the jet initiated pursuit. "Not again! Not like this again!" He pulled down and left, but a hail of tracer fire met him; the other two fighters came in from his left, intercepting and peppering his jet with tracers. He groaned as his HUD turned red, indicating that he was "Killed". The Ghosts had won.

And William had lost. Again.

---

"Argh!" A helmet flew across the hangar, bouncing around the ground like a ball. A gloved fist pounded the side of a Hawk. "I can't believe it!" A second fist joined the first as William dented the aluminum side of the training jet. He had lost again, to the same trick as before; a simple loop. He knew Glen was mocking him, right now. The thought pissed the lone pilot off further, and as a result he picked up and threw his radio across the hangar, watching with grim satisfaction as it banged against the hangar door… and landed next to a black-clad figure.

William glared, his eyes meeting the gray eyes of another. Glen leaned against the door, arms crossed, watching with a neutral face as William walked up to him. The two pilots stared each other down, ignoring the biting wind of the morning or the stares they got from other people in the hangar; two of which being Jack and Sasha.

"I hope you're happy now," William grumbled. He took a step closer to the Tomcat pilot, narrowing his azure eyes deeper than before. The soulless gray eyes of Glen's own visage stared back, unblinking and unmoving. William suddenly got a shiver, but ignored it. Instead, he began to walk past the unmoving pilot, stopping directly adjacent to him. He stared out of the corner of his eye, noting that the pale pilot had turned his head slightly.

William left. Glen sighed, and walked into the hangar. He walked into the back and found Joseph, talking with some Spectre pilots. He nodded at Glen, who produced a set of papers from his coat. Joseph read the first five words of the paper.

**Top Secret.**

**Imminent FA Threat.**

Joseph stared back at Glen, who only looked away.

"Tomorrow night," he whispered. "They've already cut communication lines and satellites. Your report to them about the… incident, was the last thing they received," he looked at Joseph. "We're too far away… what will we do?"

"We go rescue them," Joseph replied, grim faced. "We'll send in a team of fighters to take out the incoming choppers and hope to dwindle the numbers. It's all we can do," he looked over at the two Spectre pilots. "Get the word out; we're having an emergency meeting in the briefing room," he looked at Glen, who nodded.

"Bronze Gate One is being attacked…"

**To Be Continued…**


	6. Splinter

**Intuition**

He looked down at his old desk: so neat, so organized, and so reminiscent of an era past.

The room was a standard office, gleaming white, yet he insisted that he cart that cherry desk with him to the base. What could they do? He was in command of this unit, and not one of his superiors said anything about it; in fact, Eric complimented him on it. "It is nice to see a little class around here," he said, putting his feet up on the glass covered surface with a smile. The expensive pens he possessed were placed in a wooden cup on the right, along with a brass lamp with a tarnishing finish and a small picture of a young pilot fresh out of basic training.

A black ribbon was set inside the glass; a dark reminder of a time long ago.

To the left was the "business" area; a set of in/out boxes, forms needing a signature, a stapler, and a single misplaced rubber band under the inbox. He took a seat in his leather chair, a bit or wear showing on the red arms, rotated it to face his phonograph, selected "Pagliacci" from his operas, dropped the needle onto its surface, and played it.

He turned back to face his desk once again, just letting his head lay back and close his eyes for a moment, savoring the aural bouquet presented to him, but he abruptly shook his head out of it and, reaching for a skeleton key on a hook, he unlocked the center drawer, taking out a leather bound journal.

He opened its pages. There was an entry every few days or so in it, some lasting but a few words, others entire confessions. Flipping to a ribbon near its back, Joseph came upon a partially blank page. He took a pen from his cup and began.

(April 2nd, 2007)

Mission Objective: intercept enemy flight inbound for counterattack.  
Mission Roster;  
Col. Joseph "Darkside" Burns  
Capt. Nayden "Mas" Kilpatrick  
SSgt. Juan "Crystal" Septiano  
Capt. Robin "Freespace" Dahlberg

Mission Success; 23 of 24 enemies nullified, 1 critically damaged.

Weapon expenditure; 8 x AIM-120C, 9x AIM-9X, 484 x 20MM HE

He closed the book; that was it, he didn't need any more reminder of what he, or rather I, had just done.

**Freelance Alliance: The Sky's Angels**

**Chapter: 07**

"**Splinter"**

**Caelum Umbra – 1200 Hours – April 1st, 2007**

"We'll split into two flights," I explained. "Mobius squadron and Spectre flights will head out for Bronze Gate One. Your jets will be topped out with enough fuel to make it there, plus your standard armaments. You won't be flying under the cover of night for more than… about seven hours before you enter the base's airspace," I looked wearily at William. "Captain Randolph will be in charge; you are to follow his orders," I stepped down.

"Right," William began. "Okay, the basic breakdown will involve Mobius squadron Strong-arming any enemy units. Based on the intercepted data, we can have Thanatos attack and destroy the Sea Hawks before they become a threat, whilst also engaging any back-up units," he shuffled some papers. "We have about twenty minutes to prepare before we launch. The Ghosts, as I've learned, will stay behind?" He smirked imperceptibly, but I caught it.

"That is correct," I replied. "Call it… pilot's intuition," I glanced at the crew assembled; my Thanatos pilots understood what I meant, but the Mobius pilots…

I shrugged, and promptly began to leave. Three Ghosts followed me. I passed a set of gray eyes as I made my way out, along with two more haunted souls.

Chalk another one up to Mobius.

--

I started it like any other briefing. It was already dark up here - it always is at 5:00 - but it was pouring outside a bone chilling mix of rain and ice that hit you like a lightning bolt. The 20 MPH wind didn't make anything better.

"Maj. Kilpatrick, SSgt. Septiano, and Capt. Dahlberg report to my briefing room; come with flight gear. That is all."

I let them know when they came in that it was about to happen: a direct assault on our base. With no time to spare, I began.

"It was reported through an E-767 off the west coast."

I then drew up a map with a radar image on it. 24 bogies were approaching from the west, moving ever so slightly closer with each sweep of the radar.

"I don't know where they originated from – possibly from Nirvana fleet or probably from a carrier that was not in the battle group we sunk - but they're coming. I don't know what they are thinking - maybe the strategists think we are low on supplies again - but I don't waste my time with stupidity such as that."

"Why are they doing this? It… its suicide," Juan asked, a half-smirk plastered on his face.

"I have just told you all that I know. All that you need to know is that we are going in and intercepting them. Our plan is to go in high and fast, about 50,000 and Mach 1.5, come up behind them, and dispose of them."

"Suit up; we will meet in the hanger in ten minutes. The guys from Mobius and Spectre flight are undergoing their own op, so it is just us four."

"Like last time," Juan said, looking away briefly. A flash of confusion echoed in his eyes.

The other two nodded, said nothing, and left, but Juan just stood there. I almost considered speaking to him when he looked up at me. A malicious smile, not there before, not even considered, plastered its way on his face. Looking down at his boots, he nodded to himself once, then twice. He then looked up, straight into my eyes, and departed.

I was alone.

--

I got into my suit quickly. I was neither nervous nor frightened; it was just another day, another exercise against an unworthy opponent. I was early into the hanger and looked at my plane. Black as night, I ran my hand over its composite skin, feeling like flesh. Up the side, across it, and over the nose, and then I felt it. The skin was glossier, and felt more like the aluminum of other planes. The sweat on my hand moistened it and as I removed my hand, I saw a rust color stain on it… and smiled.

Juan walked into the hanger and saw me looking at my hand at that moment.

"It feels good, doesn't it?" I said without looking up.

"Sir?"

"This," I showed him my stained hand.

"Yes sir, it does," he said in something louder than a whisper, quieter than a voice.

"This will drive men insane. This will cause them to do…unnatural things. This is will cause men to feel the power and glory of God Himself, but it comes at a terrible price."

I looked up and into his eyes.

"Excuse me?" Juan said with a very puzzled look. He knew that feeling, he felt it before, but it left him as a dream. The feeling of omnipotence, of Godliness…

"I was like you once: I killed, I helped kill, and I laughed at their suffering in the sky. I felt the power flowing through me, but it was all in vain. It lost the appeal as it once had; I wanted to know what it was like to see it happen. The vacuum between us in the sky and all the flames obscured it, and I needed to watch it happen to fulfill me."

"It happened 8 years, 4 months, and 24 days ago. I saw my son in a routine target practice run drop a bomb from a Strike Eagle. The multiple ejector rack failed and dropped one of them on top of the others, detonating the bomb. He was able to eject, but the seat somehow was upside down when the chute deployed. He fell down into it, and fell like a stone. I saw him struggling to get out of it, but to no avail. His body was never found."

I paused and recollected it all over again. There was nothing I could have done after all; it had to happen. Yes, that was it.

It had to happen.

"That is why I am now what I am, a twisted, ruined shell of a man."

Juan stood there with wide eyes, trying to make sense of what I just said.

"If you keep flying the way you do, you will be a great pilot. But if you continue to think the way I know you are, you will end up like me. The Wyvern will destroy you."

He looked down again. A barley audible "Yes, sir," was all I heard.

"Get in your plane; you're on my wing. I told the crew chief to load you up with extra Sidewinders for eight total - you may need them."

Juan walked away and climbed in. I could tell that he wanted to say something, for his jaw was tightly clamped; looking back briefly at me, though, there was only the sound of silence as the cockpit turned black, the canopy closing and the fighter humming to life. Nayden and Robin walked in as Juan was climbing into his jet. They were talking about something funny when they walked in, but quickly silenced as they came.

"Sir?" asked Nayden.

"You two and I will be flying with four AMRAAMs each - six will be too heavy - and four Sidewinders. I got the crew chief to mod our front bay to carry two each if they are staggered. We are all topped off in guns and gas."

"Roger that," he replied, nodding slowly.

The air suddenly became tight and heavy in the hanger. Anything from hear on out was business. Nayden, Robin, and I climbed into our Raptors and quickly did our preflight. Checking that all the systems were functioning and all personnel were clear, I ignited the engines and opened the hangers with a command to the ground crew. It was still a torrent outside, but now it was a full blown thunderstorm. It was warmer, around 40, so the danger of ice buildup down here was small, but we needed to get out of the storm quickly.

Lightning streaked across the blue-black sky.

The Ghosts took flight.

And God shivered.

--

"Let us begin: No radio transmissions from here on out."

I was in the lead, looking up at the starry sky above me, and that black blanket of clouds above, the black earth below my craft. I could see us as if I was above the flight. I then prayed to God to give me the strength, no, the power, to eliminate my oppressors. I could sense the others were in a similar mode, even what they were thinking. So is it when you are a pilot, when you're a Ghost, you can hear the thoughts of your comrades, and taste the fear of your enemies, or so it seems.

Or maybe that's what it is, yes.

I could see Nayden clearly though it was dark out. He was sleeping, as usual. His thoughts were focused though; I could tell that he was in a deep state of thought and concentration even though he was asleep. Like a trance, or a hypnosis.

Robin was thinking far too much for me: he was imagining every maneuver they taught him at flight school, and the way to counter it; he was flying on my six at the time.

Juan's thoughts worried me though: he was not thinking about the flight at all, but he was wondering if I was wrong, if he could control it to make him the best ever. Lightning streaked below us, and the clouds looked like smoke from a forge.

"They are on radar now: let's go past them about 20 miles, and then drop in."

But there was a problem. Along with the flight must have been a Growler or two because we were receiving echoes for some three hundred planes. I broke radio silence for a confirmation.

"AWACS, this is Ghost flight, confirm number of bogies on intercept course to Caelum Umbra."

"Twenty-four units, Ghosts."

"Roger that."

I took the lead and all of us performed a Split-S in the same movement, bringing our chariots of death level with the unknown threat. That was the only explanation for the unknown interference.

"Crystal, what can you see?"

He engaged his thermal imaging in his Wyvern and zoomed in to see the flight. I knew what he was going to say before he said it.

"Twenty four units, arranged in four deltas flying in a loose box formation."

"Mas, Freespace, attempt a firing solution."

"No joy, too many signatures for lock," Freespace replied.

"Same here," Mas agreed.

I thought fast; the base was relying on us. Any failure on our part would result in the entire northern section to be open to further attack.

"Mas, Freespace, hold this range; be prepared to receive data and coordinates."

We were over friendly waters, so I chanced full throttle. The afterburners lit with a roar and we sped to the flight.

The feeling was starting to take over me: the feeling of absolute power. We could see them, we counted them, and they soared on like nothing was happening. Lightning streaked ahead of us - we were one with the clouds. I guess they thought that would give them some protection.

We came up behind them, so close that we could see the instruments lighting their cockpit and hear their engines; our engines ran silent now. Where did that roar of the afterburners go? We slowed to their speed of Mach .8 at close range and held relative position.

I pressed a few buttons, cycled through the software and selected the long range targeting system. It worked; we were close enough to get an exact fix on the enemies' positions. I relayed the information to the other two and they knew exactly what to do. Eight amraams came out of bays, eight missiles came out of the abyss, and eight pieces of death met their targets.

We were so close, the explosions shook our planes and we were forced to dive. Their screams… like music, like so many choirs of Angels, then silence in a grand crescendo of destruction.

Shards of aluminum and burning fuel rained down on us, setting our backs aflame and giving us the appearance or Raptors from hell, but immediately we accelerated and zoomed straight through the formations, passing Mach 1 in the climb. The shockwave from my nose hit another, and a satisfying rip-crack was heard as the jet fell apart into aluminum rain. I managed to get a gun lock on the belly of one in the climb, sawing it in half and going through it, and then I sliced another's cockpit open. Crystal did the same, with the same results. I heard him, though the radios were off. It was that screech that was heard over the ocean a while ago, the one of a wailing banshee.

The flames extinguished from our backs, we blended into the clouds. Lightning slashed right next to us, and the enemy flight was illuminated, but I after the bolt, I could still see the foe.

It was the other Splinter's turn now. I saw them streak in, clear as day, wingtip to wingtip. They were hot as they were going in, but within one mile from the fleeing enemy, their engines' flames faded into nonexistence. One, two, three fireballs erupted, and the two Raptors shot through the fire emerging just as I had, as blazing ravens.

I saw lighting strike near one of them, and both were out of sight again. I could sense they were inbound for another attack.

I looked over to Crystal, he looked back. Although I said nothing and he couldn't see my face, he nodded, and I broke off. I went high and fast, getting ahead of the fleeing enemy forces, while he joined the others. They were as an arrowhead, a point of death, a triad of destruction.

They tightened up, and hunted down the remaining enemies one by one. Not only that, but the three moved as a Ghost; the entire wing rolled on the same axis. They made turns that would make our air force's flight demonstration team green. One would even swear that the enemy Hornets just detonated when we pointed our noses at them; no missiles seen, no muzzle flash seen, not even the reflection of copper red as the blood fell from Heaven.

Or Hell.

Occasionally another lightning bolt would illuminate the mist with its bright radiance, and one more enemy would be gone. Not even an explosion was seen.

While the enemy did what they could to avoid the other three, I made the ones who thought they were safe pay for their ignorance and arrogance. How foolish of them, these pilots. Pilots must never relax in the combat zone; that is why they received their due punishment.

One: destroyed by a sidewinder, but the warhead failed to detonate. It hit him in the wing, and he crashed in a spinning ball of flame.

Two: Cut down with 20mm fire. There was a jarring echo as his fighter fell in half.

Three: Cut down as well. The edge of my wing acted as a blade when I passed under it, slicing out the fighter from under itself.

That is how I liked to do it, no evidence. I specifically told the ground crew to remove the tracers from the shipments of bullets we received, and the hose of lead and death did its job nicely with no hint of its owner.

The slaughter cleared the radar, and three were left retreating in formation. They were just under the clouds and in the rain, and fleeing for their pathetic lives. I was still ahead of them by about 30 miles, and watched as all three harbingers of death fired Sidewinders simultaneously on the right hand pilot. These were the only missile shots I actually saw from anyone besides myself during the entire engagement. His plane vaporized in a cloud of yellow flame.

"Cease fire. Form up on their tails, let them know you are there."

Doing as I said, the three tailed them at close range. They extended their radar reflectors, as did I, so the cowards could see that it was only four of us. I stayed ahead of the cowards and I decided to open a com to the remaining two.

"Retreating pilots, this is Colonel Joseph Burns of Caelum Umbra Air Force Base. Deliver this to your commanders; 'Any attack on our homeland will be prevented and is useless. There are powers at work here that you cannot possibly imagine. We will never be defeated, because we cannot be defeated. Fear the four horsemen and the day of reckoning.'"

I though for a moment, retracted my radar reflector, dove in a 180 turn, and went head on with them.

"How many does it take to deliver a message?"

I unleashed a hail of bullets upon the leader. His craft was turned inside out, like hitting a brick wall. I blew through, ending up streaking under the rest of my flight about fifteen feet above.

"Only one. Make sure the last one doesn't do anything stupid."

Mas lined up, and put a single round into his port engine, destroying it. The enemy Hornet's remaining engine sputtered, and he began to lose altitude, but recovered and continued fleeing.

"Return to base."

They circled around as I slowed, and we returned home together. We did it, as we always did. Not the slaughter of the battle before, but a careful execution of tactics.

I told myself I didn't enjoy it; it was just business.

And for that, the Devil laughed at me.

--

The weather had cleared, and we returned to a beautiful night sky and a slick runway. Upon landing and returning the planes to their appropriate hangers, I dismissed the pilots for the night.

"Sir?"

Juan held back.

"Yes?"

"I could feel it again. Did you?"

I thought a moment, weighing my answers. "I feel it every time. Goodnight, Sergeant."

Taken aback, he departed.

I had the ground crew apply a small decal to the tail of our planes tonight.

The first, a white bow on Captain Dahlberg's tail: the weapon of the first horseman, the weapon to bring control over the enemy. Captain Kilpatrick's Raptor received a set of gloss black scales, for he was the only one blessed with a mind as strong as his will.

To Staff Sergeant Septiano, a flaming red sword was given, the weapon to take peace from the land and bring chaos. And to myself I bestowed a grey sickle, the tool used to heal the land we protected by removing that which is worthless and injurious to man.

_And I saw when the Lamb opened one of the Seals, and I heard, as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts saying, "Come and see."_

_And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering, and to conquer._

_And when he had opened the second seal, I heard the second beast say, "Come and see."_

_And there went out another horse that was red: and power given to him that sat thereon to take peace from the earth, and that they should kill one another: and there was given unto him a great sword._

_And when he had opened the third seal, I heard the third beast say, "Come and see". And I beheld, and lo a black horse; and he that sat on him had a pair of balances on his hand._

_And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts say, "A measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures of barley for a penny; and see thou hurt not the oil and the wine."_

_And when he had opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, "Come and see."_

_And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto him over the fourth part of Earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the Earth._

**To Be Continued**

**Author's Note: **This "Splinter" was in fact not written entirely by me; indeed, I am but an editor to an already amazing chapter.

This was written by a guy I know, on the Internet, in the Freelance Alliance at http/www(dot)acecombatskies(dot)com... And what he did… well, I'll let you be the judge of that.

Out,

Glensather


	7. Divide and Conquer

There were sounds of thunder in the night sky. The heavens seemed to clash with the earth below as the screams of sound pulsed through the night. However, not all is what it seemed. Far below Heaven, slamming against her Bronze Gate, some twenty-odd men and women fought desperately. Hiding behind metal crates, jet fuselages, and their fallen comrades, these soldiers fought against an impossible foe… they fought against an unnamed foe.

In the skies above, two jets barrel-rolled and fought in sync, staving off an advance squadron of jets, each one bearing no insignia, and no pilot; they were the only protectors, the only Angels above. They fought using their powerful Vulcans to tear down enemy jets, hoping to drive them off before the enemy's reinforcements came… and they were close. In the distance, Sea Hawks lifted off from black vessels, heading towards Heaven's Door.

Far off, beyond the night sky, ten objects silhouetted against the night sky. Their gray patterns reflected the moon, and their reflections boasted the hidden ten jets, black on black, that seemed to be there, but at the same time disappear.

The call for blood was high.

The laser beams that once marked asteroids now served as an alarm system.

Bronze Gate One, Heaven's Door, the Stairway to Eternity, was once again under attack. It was up to a few good men and women to keep her safe from harm…

**Freelance Alliance: The Sky's Angels**

**Chapter: 08**

"**Divide and Conquer"**

**Bronze Gate One – April 2nd, 2007 – 0000 Hours**

"How many are left?"

"Seven, sir… everyone else is either dead or incapacitated,"

"…Damn,"

They had retreated. The pilots of the Freelance Alliance couldn't hold their positions against the enemy onslaught any more. They had dragged their bodies – and those of their allies – back, back into the safer halls of the massive airbase. They used their remaining weapons, emptying their clips before retreating even farther backward.

Eventually, the remaining seven pilots that were still alive holed up in a small area of the base; the very same hallway where the Temnota squadron slept. Now the bunks were filled with dead or dying comrades. Many of them had been strong enough to drag the bodies of fallen comrades back this far, but collapsed upon reaching their destination.

Now it was down to seven: Erick, Chris, Mike, Raneses, Cid, a bomber pilot named Hiroyuki, and Alfred. They stayed in seven separate rooms, tending to the wounded as best they could. Mike and Chris, despite their injuries, refused to rest, and instead tended to those already dead. Two pennies were placed in the eyes of the fallen, and their passage through the Styx was guaranteed.

Of the twenty pilots, 3 would never again see the light of day. Most of the rest had been injured, or the pain of their wounds had forced them into unconsciousness. Erick frowned at losing more pilots; it was different, being on the ground rather than in the sky. His skill with a gun was outmatched by his skill with a Phantom, and on the ground it showed; it showed for everyone.

One of the pilots next to him coughed up blood. The FA Colonel sighed wearily and walked over, helping the pilot take care of herself. Susan grinned half-heartedly at Erick as he tried his damnedest to make sure she could live long enough for recovery crews on the other end of the base to reach her.

"So where's the cavalry?" He asked Chris, who had stationed himself next to a phone. The Temnota pilot shrugged.

"No answer from the other line," he said. "Looks like either their jamming is getting strong enough to affect the phone lines; they've cut the wires, or our so-called cavalry is already dead," he hung up the phone and peered out the door. There was no soul in sight. Sighing with relief, he set his sword against the wall and sat down next to it. He checked the bindings on his wound before leaning his head back.

"I wonder how Rei and Rena are doing?" he wondered briefly. Looking up, he could only hope for the best.

---

The two fighters, meanwhile, had been faring a lot better than their ground allies. Rei and Rena had spotted the radar signatures of Sea Hawks from about twenty miles away thanks to a certain 767 in the sky, callsign Hijacker, following their little bout with a few enemy jets.

"Confirmed, AWACS," Rena said as her fighter slipped under Rei's, coming out on the other side just above the water's surface. "We have them on visual. Blade, engaging,"

"Yukikaze, engaging,"

The Su-47 Berkut armed two missiles from its internal rack. Rei watched the two reticles slowly converge on one of the rapidly approaching Sea Hawks. The transport chopper never stood a chance.

"Yukikaze, Fox Two!"

"Blade, Fox Two!"

Two missiles streaked from two fighters, their AA-11s flying through the air. Both missiles impacted two separate Sea Hawks, creating a satisfying explosion. Rena winced as she witnessed the rotor blades of one of the destroyed choppers smash into the side of a third Sea Hawk, sending the vessel into an incontrollable spin toward the ground.

The Berkut and '93 Fishbed exchanged places, banking to either side so they wouldn't collide with their counterpart. Rena ended up upside-down from Rei, but it didn't perturb her as she acquired tone on a second chopper, a mere second before she streaked by it. Cursing, the young girl looked "up" at Rei, who only pulled down and banked.

The Berkut's left wing skimmed over the surface of the water, the massive thrusters on his fighter creating a semi-circle wake behind the Su-47 as he pulled into a sharp, spiraling climb. His fighter's advanced targeting systems armed the Vulcan cannons and altered the "nose" of the cannon to aim in the proper direction, though only slightly.

The night sky lit up with the fire from his cannons, tearing across three Sea Hawks as he banked and pulled left hard, his guns strafing the choppers like an Apache would. The Sea Hawks' gunners took complacent shots at him, but to no avail. Their slow-moving Gatling guns were no match for the superior speed of the Berkut as it blew by the helicopters.

Meanwhile, Rena had pulled into a tight loop in the opposite direction, coming across three miles and perfectly perpendicular to the enemy Sea Hawks. She slowed down accordingly, and as Yukikaze strafed three of the choppers, they came in even with her. At once, the young pilot opened fire, cutting into the nearest choppers and blowing two of them out of the fragile sky. She ducked under one, looping upside-down and firing an AA-11 into the hull of a third one, and her last missile at a fourth as she completed her roll and righted herself, flying up and over it. The last two were in view, and the young pilot wasted no time in using her Vulcans to destroy them.

Blade grinned as she joined back up with Rei, who only nodded and gave thumbs up.

"This is AWACS Hijacker," came a voice into their comm. "No more Sea Hawks on radar! Good job!"

"Roger that, Hijacker," Yukikaze responded. "How goes the fight in the base?"

"No word yet from Command," was the sullen answer. "However, we have word that about twenty clicks north of your position, an air-to-air fight has broken out with… it appears as if Thanatos squadron and one other allied squad are in combat with more fighters. Do you have enough fuel to engage?" Both pilots checked their gauges.

"This is Yukikaze, I'm good,"

"Blade here, same as him,"

"All right, then. Yukikaze, Blade, pursue and engage at will!"

---

"Man, I wonder what's taking so long."

"Does it matter, Chris?"  
"Yeah, it does; my shoulder's killing me,"

RM chuckled at the Temnota pilot as he stretched from his prone position behind an M-60A1 situated about seven feet from the door. About the time that Yuki and Blade had finished destroying the ground forces' reinforcements, a message had gotten through the jamming via a hacked burst transmission; The cavalry was on its way, and it came in the form of Thanatos' special ground forces unit, codenamed "Stalker" unit.

RM and Chris had holed up in the room containing a few of the living pilots. Erick and Mike were in a second room, both of which were armed with Lugers and Shotguns. Cid and Alfred were stuck in a third room, both well-armed with M-16s and AK-47s. Lastly, Hiroyuki, the bomber pilot, had opted to instead go the route of the patrolman; he was armed with an M-4 and a SAW, ready to take out whatever it was that dared to approach this hall.

"Any word from our allies in the base?" Raneses asked the wounded pilot seated at the door. Chris just chuckled in response as he closed his eyes.

"Damned if I know,"

---

Erick paced.

In fact, Erick did more than pace. He paced and cursed.

Jaime Earl found this very unamusing.

"And for that matter," The old Colonel continued. "Why the hell would they attack us like this anyway! What the hell have we done!" And so on and so forth.

"Good Lord, man, just calm down," Jaime interjected, trying to calm down the old man as his rant continued. "Cursing about this isn't going to help," she watched as an obviously annoyed Erick picked up an empty clip and hurled it against a wall, the object impacting with a clanging sound and falling to the floor with a clatter. "Neither will throwing stuff,"

Erick made an obscene gesture at Jaime. The Air Ixiom pilot just sighed and lowered her head in resignation.

---

Jack looked up at the seven C-130s that carried enough men to overtake the ones reported to be inside the base proper. No one knew how much damage had been done to the base, or how many men and women survived, but Joseph had said that Erick and his FA pilots was a resourceful bunch. Having never met the eccentric man himself, Jack could only hope.

Tearing his gaze from the cargo/passenger jets, the Thanatos pilot glanced at the Joint Strike Fighter that weaved in the air around him, occasionally doing a barrel roll or twist. Sasha was enjoying herself as they flew on over the ocean waters, even as the warning lasers of Bronze Gate One pierced the sky.

"Listen up, Mobius and Thanatos," the on-edge voice of William Randolph, Mobius "1" for the duration of the mission, barked. "I just got a report from AWACS 'Hijacker'. Two fighters from Temnota are about to engage with the enemy Sea Hawks. However, there's a problem; we have enemy contacts headed our way at Mach 1.5. It looks like naval jets, composed mostly of Hornets and Sukhoi fighters. Also…" there was a pause. "Hijacker reports hearing radio chatter from the fighters,"

"Human pilots…" a voice echoed across the channel. "It's been a while since I've fought someone, William,"

"I know. But we can't let that stop us now," There was a pause. "Okay, guys, get ready for a fight! I have them on extreme-range radar!"

Jack's muscles tensed as the same thing happened on his F-35's radar screen; information directly fed from the E-767 high above. He looked up briefly, looking for the white jet as it flew in the night sky; no luck, of course, but somehow it was comforting to know that there was someone watching them.

"All units, this is AWACS Hijacker. The C-130s are going to pull away from the fight and begin approaching AFB BG1 at low altitude. ETA is 12 minutes, but that's more than enough to down prop-jobs,"

"Roger that, Hijacker," William responded. "Mobius and Thanatos Squadrons, this is Mobius One. Engage the enemy unit!"

Simultaneously, the ten Mobius jets – Sasha included – pulled into a hard left bank to engage the fighters. Following them, the black Thanatos jets broke into flights of two and began a shallower left bank.

Ten blue boxes suddenly merged with ten green boxes that jumped onto Jack's HUD. The designations "F/A-18C" and "Su-27K" mingled together briefly, along with a certain anomaly that said "MiG", but the Lightning II pilot ignored it. He targeted a single fighter – A Su-27K Flanker – and hit the deck, diving under the mini-furball and appearing up and behind it.

"_All Units, this is Alpha 1,"_ a voice said over the open channel. _"Looks like we have a party. All units, engage until Beta Wing comes up,"_

William banked hard left, easily dodging a hail of gunfire that came from above. He hadn't even seen the bullets as they streaked across the night sky, and there was no warning, but he knew that they were coming. His Wyvern looped around, spiraling upward to get behind the fighter that had shot the shells at him. His fighter literally strafed sideways, coming up even with the fighter and acquiring tone on the Su-27. Grinning, he fired a single Sparrow, and continued on his way.

"_We've lost Alpha 9!"_ A voice shouted. Sasha ignored the battle chatter, however, and pulled her small F-35 into a reverse-loop, flying down and behind an enemy Hornet. As her Sparrow acquired lock, however, there was a sudden loop of static in the air. Her radar fazed out, as did her tone lock. The Hornet slowed and pulled upward, and the girl noticed the two small pods under the Hornet's wings.

"Damn it, a Growler!" she shouted as she herself slowed down and banked hard right. White-hot gunfire lanced over her canopy, screaming into the night sky as she maneuvered her fighter behind the Growler/Hornet again. The crafty pilot rolled right, however, skimming upside-down just at the right time to avoid a streaking Flanker. The E/A-18 suddenly did a jink/turn hard left, slowing down fast… and ending up right behind Sasha again. A shrill tone pierced the canopy.

But then, it was gone. Sasha didn't see, but she heard the victory cry of a fellow F-35 pilot as he came in behind the girl, opening up with a Vulcan cannon and popping twenty rounds of punishment down the fuselage of the jammer/fighter. The jet crumpled and began a rapid descent into the ocean. Jack barrel-rolled right, ducking under the Growler/Hornet's flames and skimming the water.

As the young pilot leveled out and pulled up, his radar picked up a target, moving way too fast to be a Hornet or a Flanker. Looking around, he saw nothing until the triangle-shaped object was on top of him. His radar managed to lock on to the fighter as it cut a line through the fight. His radar marked it as "MiG-31M".

"Guys, I've got a new contact," He shouted as he began to pull into the path the quick-moving jet made. "Radar's confirmed it as a Foxhound. Engaging now," As he watched, the MiG-31 pushed down and pulled up hard… hard enough to pull an impossibly tight arc for the Foxhound. It leveled out _facing_ the pilot. Grimacing, Jack watched as the fighter flipped upside-down, just a little bit higher than him.

The fighters closed in, and both of them acquired tone. But neither fired; something, _something_ told Jack to wait. And wait he did, until the two canopies met.

Time slowed and stopped for a half-second. Jack's eyes widened as he took in a flash of short red hair.

"_Hello, Jack,"_

Then time was moving once again. Cursing, Jack pulled into a loop and gave chase about three-hundred feet up. His mind barely recalled Hijacker reporting the incoming Temnota pilots, instead focusing on the Foxhound in front of him.

"I can't believe it," he whispered. "There's no way it's-"

"_But it is, Jack… my student…"_ The Foxhound pilot growled. The F-35 pilot faltered before regaining his head.

"_Nodsri?"_

_--- _

Meanwhile, Chris had left the confines of his "guard post" and wandered the halls aimlessly. He had encountered a patrol of men, but there was no battle, as the soldiers had been entering an elevator. He took the stairs, reaching the Command Center of Bronze Gate One, where three men stood and chatted with someone on the other end of a radio. He had been watching them for about three minutes.

Slowly, the Temnota pilot crept behind the three, sword readied to strike them all down. He gripped the katana in both hands and held it to his side, blade pointing away from the body, as he took a calming breath. He bent his arm to strike, raising the blade high and-

Faltering as he felt cold steel pressing against the back of his head.

---

"What are you doing here?" Jack asked as he and the Foxhound pilot, Nodsri, dove toward the ground. Above him, two Temnota pilots, Yukikaze and Blade, passed and engaged in the fight with Alpha fleet.

"_The same reason you are,"_ The other pilot replied, his strained voice sending chills up Jack's spine. _"We are both fighting for what we believe in,"_

"And just what do you believe in… sir?" Jack inquired as his fighter caught up with the Foxhound for a beat before the faster jet pulled ahead without so much as breaking a sweat.

"_The complete destruction of the former Erusea, the Freelance Alliance, and the rise of the ultimate in power,"_ Was the answer as the Foxhound pulled up and back toward the furball.

"And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?" Jack said as he managed to bring his fighter under the Foxhound. The JSF groaned with strain, but otherwise stayed safe to fly. Jack groaned as the G-Forces took a toll on his body, but he ignored it. Instead, he concentrated as the diamond and square merged with the Foxhound above him as it again began to pull away.

"_I wouldn't do that, Jack. You'll only be humiliated,"_

"Blow me," The doors opened, and a Sparrow dropped into the air. The thruster ignited, propelling the warhead straight at the Foxhound. Jack grinned as the missile closed in on the MiG-31.

The Foxhound waited for the absolute last second. Just as the missile would have impacted the large jet, the pilot pulled up and hit the air brakes, rolling the fighter in the process. Jack watched as he pushed the top of his fighter's left wing against the missile, bracing it before rolling the fighter hard. The missile spun out of control, its target lost, only to slam into a passing Mobius jet. The gray fighter exploded into flame.

Jack was stunned.

"He really is my master…" he whispered, watching as the Foxhound's afterburners shut off. The jet pulled a hard right, facing the same direction as Jack. The Lightning II pilot rankled and twisted his stick in the opposite direction. His fighter's fuselage scraped against the wingtip of the Foxhound as it shot by. On its left wing, a single missile ignited, and launched off toward… nothing.

Or so it seemed.

"_Say goodbye to your precious Bronze Gate!"_ The ace's voice came over the comm. _"All fighters, this is Alpha Leader! Let's pull out and head for home!"_

At once, the remaining jets pulled from the fight.

"Hijacker, what was THAT?" Jack shouted as he tried desperately to follow the Foxhound as it broke Mach 2 and sped away.

"_Allow me to answer that,"_ Nodsri's voice scratched. "_What you saw was a Midgar-class Nuclear Warhead… and now you have… 3 minutes before that missile hits your precious base. Ta ta…_"

Instantly, twelve fighters broke from their retreating opponents and gave chase to a spot highlighted on their HUD. Most fighters wouldn't be fast enough to get within gun range of the missile as it zigged, zagged, jinked, strafed, and generally just made a nuisance of itself as it began to pull away from the Thanatos/Mobius/Temnota fleet.

But there was one pilot whose jet was fast enough.

---

"All communications… restored?" Erick wondered as the wall-phone suddenly rang. He picked it up. "This is Long. What is it?" There was a rapid voice on the other end. "…I understand, Hijacker. I'll let the others know," He hung up the phone for a second before picking up the line again.

"_Attention, all people still alive on Bronze Gate One…"_

_--- _

"_Communications have been restored. I've just received a communications from our Eye in the Sky, Hijacker; there is a single Midgar class Nuclear missile headed for the base,"_

"So that's what you guys were talking about," Chris muttered as four men roughly dragged him outside of the base, where a small boat awaited. "I guess I should thank you for getting me out of the base," he smirked in the dark.

"Shut up," a soldier ordered, pushing him farther into the night. Chris's white-hilted blade gleamed in the night, hanging from the man's hip like a trophy. The pilot narrowed his blue eyes, but said nothing as they neared the speed boat.

Quickly, he did a double take of his surrounding opponents; one soldier stood ahead of the rest, almost jogging ahead of the team as they neared the boat; a second and third dragged the pilot by his arms; and a fourth pushed him and taunted him, using the business end of his M-4 carbine as a prodding tool.

"_Bronze Gate One is strong, very strong; but a Midgar can take out a large chunk of this facility, if not all of it,"_ Erick continued. "_I ask, no, implore you to evacuate to the lowest levels of this facility. There's nothing we can do but pray for the lives of our fighters up high,"_

_But there's something I can do._ Chris thought. Blinking, he took a breath and calmed his nerves. He concentrated, focused on the situation about him: The clanking of the weapons; the heavy thud of boot steps; the gleam of his katana; and the steel pipe on the ground.

Wait… the pipe on the ground? Chris grinned. Their path would take them right by the pipe; all he had to do was be faster than the guy with the gun to his back. It would take skill, finesse, and a hell of a lot of luck. Silently, Chris hoped his luck hadn't run out. But it would have to wait; he decided… it was now or never.

The pipe tapped against his boot.

Time's flow went to zero.

Chris collapsed to the ground in a beat. In a second, he grabbed the pipe and leaped into the air, spun around, and slammed to pipe into the side of the soldier's head. The third beat took the man spinning, grabbing the sword from the soldier's belt and hurling it at the one way up front. The blade almost missed, but it sliced its away across the man's jugular before impaling itself into the ground.

The other two opened fire. Chris dropped, grabbed the M-4, and opened up with a lance of return fire. His shots were more accurate, and the two dropped, holes in their chests and heads. Chris escaped without a scratch.

Standing up, he looked toward the distance to see the Midgar approaching. It was only a matter of time, now, before that missile struck. Only a matter of time…

But it wasn't time to give up yet. Chris ran over and grabbed his katana from the ground. Running back over to the only unconscious soldier, Chris grabbed him by the collar, and began to drag him back toward the Freelance base.

Meanwhile, in the dark of night, a Berkut gave chase…

---

Mach 1.0

Mach 1.5

Mach 1.7

Mach 2.0

The Berkut skimmed the very air it rode on. Rei's fighter had long ago outrun the others, and his was slowly, but surely, catching up with the Midgar as it crossed the night air in a zigzag pattern. He didn't twist his fighter in pursuit, but instead flew straight and true, like an arrow for its quarry. The red lasers in the distance, spread out in emergency configuration, continued to grow. The missile ahead of him streaked down and to the left, came up hard and jinked right, coming behind and ahead of the Berkut.

Rei grimaced and typed in a key command on his jet's computer. The bottom bay doors opened and two AA-11s – his last two missiles – opened up. The twin boxes of his fighter's lock on system slowly closed in on each other as the Temnota pilot began to follow the missile in its erratic flight, watching with anticipation, waiting for the lock…

A shrill tone screamed in the cockpit.

"Yukikaze, Fox Two! Fox Two!" The dual AA-11s screamed out of the missile racks and began pursuit of the lone Midgar as it sped toward the ever-closer Bronze Gate One. Simultaneously, a hail of tracer gunfire screamed in the air, cutting through the night like a laser and tearing around the missile as it merrily paced its way to the base.

_No._ Rei thought. _It can't… won't… end like this! I won't let it…_ He pushed his fighter harder, emptying the ammo in his cannon, only to watch the missile evade the bullets and, in a mockery of the pilot, extended a set of wings and stabilized itself. It was going in for the kill, now; the base was less than 5 miles away. Rei could see the lights on in the base itself.

The lives of hundreds, thousands… it was now all up to him.

But what to do?

Rei groaned… he knew what he could do; what he could try to do. What would happen could very well result in his death; but, in this case… it would be worth it.

"D… Damn it!" Screaming, Rei leapfrogged over the cruise missile, opened his missile bay doors, and pushed down on his fighter as hard as it would. The Midgar began to evade, but a second too late. His internal rack's mechanical arm clamped around the missile, holding it in place, as it pulled it back in the fighter. The missile's thrusters still screamed into the night, propelling both the Berkut and the Midgar at even greater speed toward the base.

The doors didn't close; they couldn't. Instead, Rei ignored the open underside of his fighter and grabbed the control stick.

Bronze Gate One was close. He could see a lone figure on the island's edge, dragging behind him another person. There was a silver gleam.

_Chris…_

Rei screamed and pulled up.

The missile and the arm screamed in protest, but his fighter went against the call of the missile and began to point her nose up to Heaven.

The lights of the Command Bridge streaked past his canopy as Berkut and Midgar sped past the base. The fighter managed into a 70 degree climb, despite the missile trying to use its flaps to turn back toward the base and the counter-thrust of the missile's turning attempt. Rei watched with trepidation as the Berkut screamed through the clouds, leveling out the fighter in an attempt to get it as far away from the base as possible.

But something Rei didn't know…

The Midgar had a failsafe on it… and the clock was ticking…

---

It was… over…

As Chris pulled the unconscious soldier back into the base, a Berkut roared overhead. Far behind, the Mobius/Thanatos combined flight, along with Rena, escorted the C-130s as they neared the base. Somewhere in the dark ocean, a submarine surfaced and retrieved small boats of soldiers. Erick was silent, but Chris knew that the eccentric colonel had a handle on what was going on.

The weary pilot sighed as he made it back to the inside of the base.

"Mobius, Thanatos, this is Hijacker," a voice came over the com lines. "I've just received a report from Erick. It reads: Congratulations on your defense of the base. I've been filled in on the details by the AWACS unit. Other than a few small pockets, the siege of Bronze Gate One is over. Come in and refill your tanks. You guys are going home… oh, and give my praise to the pilot who stopped the Midgar,"

Just then, a white light filled the eyes of every pilot in the dark.

A billowing cloud appeared in the distance. It pushed away all others in its white horror, creating a large, gaping hole in the natural clouds. A secondary wave of death followed, forming a ring around the first explosion and creating a sort of mockery of a planet in the night sky. The pilots winced as they watched the explosions scream into the dead of night.

"Rei!" someone screamed as the explosion began to fade, leaving nothing but a gaping hole in the night sky and her clouds. The pilots blinked, saw nothing, and looked ahead to the base.

Peace.

"This is AWACS Hijacker," the voice from on high said. "The Midgar detonated a safe distance from Bronze Gate One. It seems that… that pilot Fukai was killed in the process,"

"No… Rei…"

"I'm not dead, yet,"

From below, a dark-blue Berkut skimmed the water, leaving behind it a great wake. The afterburners screamed blue fire into the night as the Su-47 rose up from the sea, streaking past the base and the approaching squadrons. The jet wailed a banshee's cry past a MiG-21, banking hard left and turning. The jet slowed and came up under the small fighter, dwarfing it.

"In fact, I'm very much alive,"

"Then this mission is finished," Hijacker claimed. "All aircraft, head for Bronze Gate One… it's time to figure all this out."

Rei nodded and looked up at the MiG-21 above him. The fighter wavered, and as he pulled to the right and came up level to it, he saw its pilot shivering. A flash of something crossed the young pilot's eyes, but he didn't say anything as he watched the girl compose herself. He shrugged absently and looked ahead, toward the future of the FA.

And the counterattack.

**To Be Continued**

**Next: Sky's Angels OVA: Fall of the Phoenix**


	8. Fall of the Phoenix

**NAMCO  
**

**PRODUCTION I.G.**

"_I…"_

_**Manga Entertainment**_

_**Freelance Productions**_

_**GAiNAX**_

"_Am…"_

_**Project ACES**_

_**Pioneer LTD.**_

**_And Exile Studios…_**

"_The Phoenix..."_

_-_

_Freelance Alliance:_

_Fall of the Phoenix/xineohP eht fo llaF_

-

It reflected in the dark room.

The silver sheen of its edge trailed in the dark like a white beam, cutting its way from its resting place inside the wall. Trailing its way up the silver light was a bird of fire, its flaming wings trailing a blaze behind it as it made its way to the point of the light. It left behind a black wall of protection, keeping the wielder of the light safe from its powerful glow. The wielder would hold onto it by its hilt, a long dull haft of light laced with white rope.

Distorted blue eyes reflected in the white river. A hand grabbed the hilt, and pulled hard.

The blade came free.

-

_Fall of the Phoenix_

_Chapter:09 – Operation Dâmmerung_

-

He walked.

As the windows of the now-complete base passed his peripheral vision, he noted the bleary rain as it pounded against the window, trying to break them down and reach him with their pointed fingers. There was a flash before his vision, and a half-second later a low rumble echoed, followed by a loud crash that echoed in the lonely hallway. He closed his eyes and opened them again, clearing his vision as he walked for the end of the hall.

He passed many doors on his other side. None of them were the correct one, and yet each one was the most certain of the doors. Names, etched in steel, called to him. He noted the names as he passed; knowing what was inside – and who.

A single door awaited him at the end. As he reached it, he brought a hand up and knocked slowly.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

The door opened with a hiss, letting him inside the room. There, seated around a rectangular table, were multiple shadowy figures. He took his place in one of two empty seats, and brought his hands up to the table. Above them, a projector activated, displacing onto the table a projection of the world map. The light illuminated the faces of each person as it touched them.

Alfred Santos  
RM Raneses  
Cid Jacobo  
Chris Johnson  
Joseph Burns  
And Erick von Long

He watched as Erick was the first to speak.

"This is the situation," he began, letting the words roll out in a sort-of drawl. "We have discovered the location of another enemy forward base. It is an island approximately 300 miles from our position, along the same vector as the attack on our base a few months ago," The map animated, showing an arrow that highlighted a single island on the map; the island itself was long and thin, almost as if it was trying to reach out for them.

"We believe that, despite repeated failed attempts to subdue us," he continued, showing arrows coming at Bronze Gate One, Caelum Umbra, and the location of the Barracuda Fleet's destruction. "They still have a significant force there. From what we learned from the soldier we interrogated before he killed himself, and from the analyzed data that Hijacker, the Loki prior to its destruction, and Caelum Umbra has gathered from the enemy outpost near them, there are at least a force of jets to equal the Alliance,"

"At least thirty fighters," Joseph commented, leaning forward. He highlighted the Barracuda's graveyard with a circle. "From what the survivors gathered from this fight, the A.I. is significantly smarter than it was the day they attacked this facility. However, given that the last two sorties carried out against us, we can determine that either the A.I. has been determined useless or, more likely…"

"That now they're just toying with us," Chris muttered. The light from the projector reflected from his blue eyes, giving him an eerie appearance. "The A.I. is so good by now that it's just a matter of time before it can easily take us out. Assuming that this is just a forward base, though, can't we determine that the enemy has fewer units, though?"

"Negative," Alfred said, bringing up arrows pointing at the enemy base from all directions. "Remember, we don't know just who owns this base. The enemy is still unknown, though its intentions are. They could have been hired by the former Belka, but it's unlikely. It's a safer bet that it could possibly be members of the former Erusian dictatorship that threatened ISAF a few years back. But then that begs the question on how they have the resources and technology they have now,"

"I might have something there," Cid admitted, bringing up circles highlighting various parts of Erusea. "From what ISAF and the FEAF gathered from Mobius One's fights during Operation Katina, the enemy may have acquired some pretty heavy amounts of technology. I bet that there are more people gunning for Erusea than just the ex-Dictatorship. Remember the naval disaster: There were Osean, Anean, Belkan, and ships from every corner of the globe,"

"So we're dealing with opponents with vast cash reserves," Raneses said. "Do you think that maybe it's Grunder?"

"I doubt it," Erick replied. "However, let's not worry about it yet," he cleaned the projection's arrows and focused on two. One went from Bronze Gate One to the enemy fortress. The second arrow came from Caelum Umbra, went south-east until a large red X appeared, then from there headed for Bronze Gate One and joined with the first arrow. "What I suggest is a two-part attack: The first part is to send a scouting wing to the enemy base; possibly a flight of only two jets. At the same time, Thanatos and Mobius can conduct a simultaneous two-prong attack on the enemy outpost near them,"

"Upon destroying the base, the two squadrons would make their way for Bronze Gate One. Now, assuming the two pilots survive, we will use our acquired knowledge to launch an assault on the enemy facility. Now, the attack itself needs to occur in stages. I believe that Mr. Burns has come up with such an attack plan,"

"That is correct," Joseph iterated. He brought up a zoomed in version of the base, where some seven enemy formations were shown as sets of triangles. On the other end of the map, four symbols appeared: one for Temnota, Air Ixiom, Mobius, and Thanatos each. "Stage One of the flight will consist of Temnota, Mobius, and Thanatos squadrons coming in hot, acquiring air superiority over the airbase," the three respective symbols came in and deleted five of the triangles. "Stage Two will consist of a large-scale bombing of the enemy facility by Air Ixiom, while the other squadrons maintain air superiority,"

"Stage Three will be to acquire the base proper," Joseph continued. An FA symbol began to make its way toward the base. "We have C-5s loaded up with soldiers, who will come in and capture the base under the cover of the combined allied squadrons. Following this will be the fourth and final stage of the fight: Establishing this island as a forward base for us. We intend to rebuild our Navy, and we could do that from this island,"

"Thanatos and Mobius have already prepared for the attack on the outpost up north. Erick and I have consulted and agreed that pilots Davenport and Fukai will be best for the scouting mission, as they both seem to work well together. We plan on these sorties taking a matter of minutes, though the travel time will vary for both sorties. As soon as my squadron and Mobius squadron show up, we will refuel and begin for take-off. At that point, everyone will be given a pre-flight briefing,"

There was a silence for a brief time. The Freelance leaders looked around warily.

"I take it there are no objections?" Silence. Erick nodded. "Very well; this is our plan. We'll commence Operation Dâmmerung immediately," he clenched his fists. "It's time we get revenge. Dismissed,"

The pilots all stood at once, except for him. He looked around as the others began to file out before standing and stretching. He looked back at the map as it glowed in the dark before walking out of the room. He didn't have any protests about the plan, but something felt wrong. Something deep inside, his pilot's instinct, told him that something would happen.

He pushed the thought from his head. As the thunder clashed around him, he instead focused on him less painful and he looked out the window. Leaning against it, he put a hand on the glass and looked outside, eyes flashing in the lightning. He briefly saw in the storm a tempest, the rain and thunder that threatened to take over the base. The targeting lasers on the base itself scanned the rainy sky, looking for something that wasn't there.

He sighed and looked away. It was time to prepare.

-

Meanwhile, so close and far away, past the horizon and next to the sea, a small airbase moved. Like ants, they milled around the base, setting up the sixteen jets stationed there for an assault on the enemy outpost nearby. The Thanatos and Mobius insignias blurred as both squadrons prepared their joint assault.

On the ground, a lone pilot trekked the distance between his barracks to his hangar on the far end. The sunlight from above glinted off of his glasses, hiding his bright eyes as he scanned the runway. A chill wind blew across his body, sending up the dust on the ground around him and pushing his hair to the side. His left hand, tucked in his pocket, pulled out a cellular phone. He flipped it open and began to speak.

"Talk to me, Sasha,"

"_I've just gotten word from Captain Randolph,_" came the feminine voice from the other end of the "line". "_He plans on Mobius becoming the dominant squadron in the fight itself; once Mobius and Thanatos have destroyed the base; he's going to ground your squadron. He thinks that Mobius alone can take out the base, and doesn't need the help of a… as he puts it… and 'inferior' squadron,_"

"So what do you want me to do?" Jack slipped into his hangar and hung up his phone. Placing it back in his pocket, he looked at the two fighters resting in the hangar and waved at one of them. Standing up, a young, blonde-haired girl rose up and waved back, making her way to the edge of the jet. She hopped down next to the young man.

"Watch him," she replied. "Watch him, and watch him well. I don't know what he's planning to do with you guys, but chances are that it can't be good," she sighed. "The Captain is a very resentful person. If only Mobius One was here, he'd make sure this wouldn't happen,"

"Well, the good General isn't here, Sasha," Jack retorted, walking to the side of his jet. "We've got to make do with what we have. I'm certain that this will all work to the best effect it can," he looked at her as the ladder up to the cockpit was set up. "I trust that you will know what to do if the Captain becomes – how did you say – resentful?" The girl nodded. "That's what I thought," he began climbing up the ladder.

"Some things never change, do they Jack?" Sasha asked as she walked over to her fighter. The pilot didn't hear her, but she didn't want him to. As the girl smiled to herself, she nodded. "That's right… Goosey, some things never change,"

The whirr of rotors was heard seconds later, and as the hangar doors opened, two Joint Strike Fighters pulled out into the sunlight. Their gray and black plating gleamed, mingling together and diffusing the other's color. On the runway itself, two jets took off together; a Wyvern and an Eagle/Active. Jack watched as the air caught under the wings of the jets, their Mobius insignias lashed by the wind.

As both fighters pulled out, Sasha's gray JSF went ahead of Jack's, so she could join up with her fellow Mobius pilots. An F-14A pulled up next to her, and together the two were to take off. Jack felt a twinge of envy for the Tomcat pilot, who got to fly with the lovely girl, but he pushed it out of his mind… or at least he tried to. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the two jets, not even as they passed by the Hangar of Ruin. But as the Tomcat entered its wide turning arc, a spot of black appeared in Jack's peripheral vision. Looking at the hangar, he saw a black-clad figure leap from his position on top of the Tomcat just below him. The person rolled up to the front and tore open the canopy. There was some motion, and the pilot of the F-14 was pulled from his position in the cockpit; the figure in black got inside and closed the canopy.

"_Jet acquired, Kilpatrick,_" The new pilot's voice whispered. "_Now it's up to Anderson to get the other. Lieutenant Drake, are you ready?_"  
"_Yes, Captain,_" Sasha replied. "_I am,"_  
"_Then be ready to follow,_"

As Jack pulled into his position to launch with another Thanatos pilot, he watched as the Tomcat and JSF ignited afterburners and began to rise into the sky. He blinked, and suddenly the F-14 was different, as was the F-14D pulling on the runway; both had become white and black – the color of the former Navy – with an extra red streak down the sides of the jets. Jack blinked again, but it was gone.

"What… was that?" he wondered.

"_No time for chit-chat!_" Nayden Kilpatrick, who was now Thanatos XO, barked. "_Thanatos Spectre flight, line up and take off!_" Jack shook his head from all thoughts and focused; now it was time. His fighter made its way to the runway; his heart raced; his palms began to sweat. This would be the most important mission he'd ever been on.

Operation… Dâmmerung…

A JSF and a Raptor soared into the sky, afterburners screaming. Their blue fire consumed the air.

-

Lightning streaked across their field of view.

Two lone fighters swam through the air, making their way to a base toward the southeast. A small MiG-21 floated just under and to the right of a Su-47 Berkut fighter. Both fighters flew straight and true, like bullets from a gun, as they screamed through the air for their destination.

It had been a solid hour since their briefing with Erick and the Freelance High Command. There they, along with the rest of the squadron, had been briefed on the operation at hand, while at the same time Thanatos launch for their fight. The Aggressor and Special Forces squadrons near the Arctic were en route to their first objective, before changing course and beginning their trek to Bronze Gate One. At the exact moment Thanatos and Mobius finished their sorties; the two jets would have to be on their way out of the base.

This kind of operation was so hard to plan and depended so much on timing, that Rena seemed almost uncertain of their chances. She took a breath in her cockpit, her helmeted head resting against the back on her seat. The autopilot would inform her of when they were close. They had about 15 minutes of travel time before they reached the base; the same instant Thanatos and Mobius would reach their first checkpoint.

"It's… odd…" she whispered. "But I feel like… that something will happen today," She paused and sighed again.

"Something _always_ happens," Rei Fukai, pilot of the Berkut, said to her. "This is a mission of high priority; I've found that, when these kinds of missions happen, something will happen to jeopardize it. You and I cannot fail, Davenport,"

"I know that," Rena replied, looking up at the jet above her. "But that doesn't make it better. What if that jeopardy is that Thanatos doesn't pull through? Or that, that someone in High Command is hurt or killed?"

"You are already asking questions that High Command has already asked themselves," Rei chided. "Don't worry about it. Now, focus instead on this mission. We have 5 minutes before we'll be detectable. This hurricane won't hide us forever, so this will be a simple in-and-out mission. Do you remember the basics?"

"Yes, yes," Rena confirmed. "We have no weapons, only enough fuel to turn and burn, and two camera pods under each wing. Both are equipped with high-resolution lenses, digital zoom, and a satellite feed directly back to the base. We have to go in, take pictures, and get out," She paused. "And you're here because…"

"In case one of us gets shot down," Rei iterated. "The second will immediately leave a hot streak back to base. Neither of us have weapons, only fuel and film, so we'll have to make this fast," he reached under his seat and pulled out a keyboard. He began typing and pulled up two screens on his dash. "I suggest that one of us break low and ride the waves into the base. We have a ten-minute window to get pictures; that's about how long it _should_ take Mobius and Thanatos to destroy the base," On his screens were two radar images of the hurricane and base. "The base is barely five miles across and wide…"

"That means that we can get pictures in less than ten minutes," Rena analyzed. "We should be well on our way back to base before the enemy…" There was a pause as her radar went haywire. "Wait, what's this?"

"I've detected it too," Rei confirmed. "Something on extreme range radar… I think its level with us,"

"What do you think it could be?" Rena asked.

"I don't know, but we should be approaching it soon… it looks like the hurricane's eye should be about here,"

Two fighters burst the dam of the storm…

Rena's eyes widened.

"My God…"

"_God's not the word for it,"_

Lightning flashed.

-

"Thanatos, Mobius, we're close to the enemy outpost. Lock and load,"

"Ghosts, this is Mas… follow me,"

Three black jets rolled left and down, leaving the pack behind and disappearing into the mist that seemed to grow around the outpost. Meanwhile, William and the others activated afterburners and pushed forward into the light. Situated next to the Mobius leader was a lone JSF jet, gray and black in color.

Off and to the right, "they" watched.

Two Tomcats flew in a leader-and-wing formation, both pilots' eyes locked ahead. The weaker jet, the Tomcat A, led a Super 'Cat to their destination. They hovered exactly 450 feet from the Mobius leader, never wavering and always moving ahead. The two pilots adjusted their helmets and breathe masks.

Jack watched with his wingman as the jets ahead of him disappeared into a misty haze. He clenched his free hand tightly on his throttle, while he kept his right hand on the control stick. He felt the nose of his fighter touch the edge of the mist, and suddenly it was very cold. He pushed away the uncomfortable feeling, and instead pushed up on his throttle. His fighter lurched on ahead as the other jets disappeared around him, leaving him feeling cold and alone.

A swelling panic overcame the young pilot as only the hiss of static arose over his comm. Nothing seemed to be out there as he flew through the mist, his fighter breaching Mach 1 and breaking the sound barrier. Wild Goose coughed as the smell of something foul entered his nostrils. It was the smell of something coppery and sour, like rusted iron. It was only then that Goose realized that he smelled his own blood, his own fear… in short, he was terrified.

But of what?

It then struck him like a bolt.

_He was afraid of dying._

"Damn it," he muttered.

"…o….br….ck….now…" fragments of words burst through the static of his comm. Jack tapped his helmet, trying to make the sound work properly. "eat…br…off…now…"

It was then that the young Thanatos pilot burst through the mist… straight into a hail of Apache rocket fire. Goose screamed and pushed down hard on his stick, narrowly missing the hail of high-explosive rockets that passed overhead. Above and behind him, two Mobius jets barreled through the mist just in time to be ripped apart by the Hydra rockets that slammed into them.

The ground rushed up at the JSF. Goose grimaced and pulled up hard on his stick again. The ground slowly gave way to rolling hills.

There in front of him was a melee. He saw three black shapes scream through the air, cutting left and right, using guns without sound to break apart the swarm of enemy jets that were there and the helicopters already in the air. His HUD lit up with green squares, each one of them reading "F/A-18E"… Super Hornets. Meanwhile, he saw three Mobius jets – including Sasha, thank God – form up a delta formation and begin making strafing runs against the moving Apaches.

_They knew we were coming._

Meanwhile, the rest of Thanatos burst through the mist that shrouded their path. The elite pilots of the Spectre flight broke up their formation as soon as they made it through, but one was still cut down by a cacophony of chain-gun fire; the bullets ripped into the airframe, igniting both engines with fire and detonating the Sidewinders prematurely.

The explosion rocked the area, almost taking out one of the Apaches as it got too close. The AH-64s turned around and began to fire at the passing jets as they screamed by.

Goose took a breath and locked on to one of the helicopters. Narrowing his eyes, the pilot pushed the primary launch button. On his JSF, a missile bay on the left side opened, and a Sparrow jumped out, shooting forward with all the fury of Hell.

There was an explosion as the battle began.

-

The lightning stopped briefly, and the two Temnota pilots got a good view of what they were facing.

The nose was blunt, but the two cannons there made the bridge a frightening place to try and attack point-blank. Its long, sleek body had no points on it as it extended into the form of a flying wing aircraft, with two points that extended even farther for wings. The massive machine was at least a mile long and measuring almost five, maybe more, from wingtip to wingtip. Worst yet, the giant aircraft bristled with pinpoint cannons – none of which had fired. The craft was the color of chrome, not showing a wrinkle or dent within its armor as its form seemed to stretch endlessly.

It appeared like a giant B-2 bomber, and it was so big that the pilot's HUD systems only displayed that there was something in the way.

"What the hell is this?" Rei wondered, skimming over the aircraft and taking pictures. Each snapshot only showed more cannon emplacements, more guns, and more pieces of artillery. None of them were active, but all of them put together matched or outnumbered the power of Bronze Gate One's completed emplacements.

"It's like a giant airbase," Rena replied, diving under the aircraft. Their objective – the enemy forward airbase – was silent, though two Hornets parked on the runway threatened to take off. The base was nothing remarkable, and didn't even have AA defenses that were active. Even if they were, the sheer size of this behemoth overwhelmed both pilots. Rena flew upside down and took pictures of the seventeen massive jet engines underneath the aircraft. But the air didn't smell like poisonous exhaust, but instead like clean air.

Rena's MiG-21 had a hard time pushing against the engine wash, but it was strong enough to withstand it. As she snapped photos of even more emplacements, however, her radar noted movement. Looking "up", she noticed that the two Hornets were taxiing for the runway.

"Raven 2, looks like we've overstayed our welcome," she commented.

"Roger that," Yukikaze replied. "The cannons on top are moving too,"

Suddenly, the entire ship was active. As Rena made it to the back of the giant ship, she saw five massive thrusters – also shaped like a B-2's – begin to burn white-hot flame. The girl made herself scarce, swinging her jet down toward the base itself.

Meanwhile, Rei watched with trepidation as he made it toward the end of the massive jet. The cannons were tracking him now, and each one looked primed to fire. He pushed the jet harder forward, reaching the edge of the top layer before flipping the fighter and diving. His head swam in the air as his fighter went into his hard push down, breaching the side of the vessel and reaching the same plane as Rena.

Then the cannons fired.

The first one fired at Rei. As he leveled out his fighter, bottom-mounted cannon swung at him and fired. The inside of the cannon glowed blue with energy before lancing out at him. It arced through the sky like a lightning bolt, forking and coming back together, forming into a blast of pure energy just off of the Su-47's right wing. The fighter was thrown violently to the left as the sonic boom of the blast reached it, and the explosion of the blast itself almost knocked Rei unconscious.

"Rei, no!" Rena screamed, bringing her fighter around and igniting her afterburners. The two Hornets below reached launch velocity and began climbing into the sky, but the young pilot ignored it. Rei was safe, though; he pulled his fighter into a tight loop and leveled out, his fighter unscathed. Rena's mind flooded with relief; so much so that she didn't notice the cannon above her fire its blast at her.

There was the sound of lightning cutting across the sky.

-

"Ragnarok 2, look out!"

"Don't worry about me, Mobius 4; I'm fine,"

The Apache helicopters unloaded their payloads at the incoming stealth aircraft. The two Joint Strike Fighters they fired at ducked under the Hydras aimed at them, coming up behind them and going into V/TOL mode for half a second. Simultaneously, both fighters turned 180 degrees on the spot and opened up with M61s. The four Apaches, slower to react, were torn to shreds before they could bring their weapons to bear. Both fighters turned back around and ignited afterburners, breaking the sound barrier in three seconds.

Meanwhile, three black shapes criss-crossed the misty sky like a rocket. The screen of AH-64s fell down to invisible, unheard gunfire and faster-than-sound Sidewinders. Two pilots managed to scream as a Wyvern suddenly appeared between them, its V-shaped wings opening up and slicing both choppers in two. Fire fell onto the soldiers below.

"_Delta Unit, begin the attack,"_ William's voice came over the com as the Wyvern pilot nimbly dodged a hail of Hydra fire. _"Mobius squadron will give you guys cover as you make your runs,"_

"Roger that," Jack confirmed, pulling into a small unit that was lined up in a reverse-V formation. One other JSF and three Raptors lined up with the young pilot as he took his position in the rear of the V. Four Mobius jets screamed across their field of vision, cutting down more Apache's. The metal rain of thick steel and pilot's suits slashed across the vision of the five pilots as they cut into a tight left back, as far back from the base as possible.

"_All of this…" _he heard one of the Raptor pilots say. _"And not a single ground-AA defense?"_ Just as the words left the pilot's mouth, however, three missiles collided with it. The first took of the right wing and sent the fighter off to the left, while the other two impacted what was left, destroying the Raptor in a bright metal ball of flame.

"_You just had to ask!"_ The lead Raptor shouted. "_All Delta Unit fighters break formation and fire at the ground at will!"_ The RWR scanner in Jack's HUD went crazy, and the pilot broke into a steep climb and break, launching radar-jamming chaff in the process. The missile never collided with him, but Jack felt the pressure of the multi-Mach object. As he pulled out to level, he armed the AIM-130 GBU bombs in his racks.

As he did so, three shadows crossed his vision. Three Ghosts made like a banshee to the hangars and runway below. The black shapes lined up and seemed to blur into nothingness as they sped forward, not even firing weapons as the lead jet's nose plowed into the first hangar, the supersonic speed of the fighter forming a vacuum around the jet itself. The three jets made a line through the hangars, destroying man and machine alike. Not a single round was fired as they skewered the hangars. When they came out the other end, all that was left were ten smoldering buildings.

Higher in the sky, two F-14 Tomcats fought with the only two jets that had managed to launch. In the skies far beyond the mist and clouds, they danced with two EF-2000 Typhoons. The first one ducked under the second, which barrel rolled right and down, splitting the contrails to a spiral shape as it lined up with the EF it _wasn't_ chasing. A hail of M61 fire tore off the Typhoon's left wing, while the same burst of tracer fire lanced into the dull sky. The first jet looped around behind the remaining Typhoon and fired a single AIM-9. The Sidewinder slammed into the engine of the jet, not exploding for a full three seconds before finally blowing the fighter to pieces.

The first Tomcat – an older model A – led the D model back to the ground below. It spontaneously opened up a hail of gunfire, and far below three Apaches suddenly detonated, as if an internal explosion had blasted them apart.

As Jack ducked under the three burning Apaches, he aimed his guided bombs at a SAM site. The hexagon acquired tone with the SAM as it aimed at him and fired its anti-air missile. Simultaneously, Jack released his bombs and released chaff. He pulled up and left hard, intercepting and plowing through a burning chopper. The missile missed the fighter, but the bombs dropped demolished the SAM and its three counterparts.

"Rena!!!"

"D---Damnit!"

The MiG-21 piloted by Rena Davenport trailed smoke as she lost control of it. Her turbofan was all but gone, and the adjacent tail was also nowhere to be found. She tried desperately to keep the jet in the air, but to no avail. It plunged its way toward the waters below, and there was only one option staring at her. With a heavy heart, the girl reached down and pulled hard on the ejection handle.

There was a crash of glass as the canopy gave way and collided with the fuselage of the aircraft. Rena's chair shot upward for a few seconds before starting to slow, indicating that it was time to go. Sighing, Rena took off her safety belt and slipped off the jet, quickly deploying her parachute. Far off to her right, the lone MiG-21 spiraled into the ocean.

"_Raven 3!"_

"I'm alright," Rena muttered. "But chances are you can't rescue me right now," she looked up as the Berkut dodged a hail of cannon fire – which she had dubbed "Lightning Flares" – to head for her position.

"_I'm not losing a wingman,"_

"Don't worry about me, Rei," replied the young pilot. "Besides, you'll get a new wingman. Get your jet and get out of here. You know what you have to do,"

"…Roger that," The Berkut sped under her, and Rena could see the eyes of the pilot as he looked up at her. Rei solemnly pushed the jet to maximum speed and screamed down to ocean level, creating a great wake behind him as he made his way across the sea back to Bronze Gate One. Rena sighed and let her helmet fall down to the ground below. Already she could see the soldiers waiting on her, pointing AK-47s to the sky.

"Time to pull the teeth from this beast," Rena whispered.

Guns pointed at the remaining soldiers.

The base was destroyed. Only the smoldering ruins of the runway remained as two C-5 Galaxies landed, deploying the occupation force inside. The sword and gun crest of the FA Marine forces shone proudly on their vests as they quickly took over what was left of the base. The only remaining enemy Apache was grounded, and Marines surrounded the chopper as the pilots slowly stepped out.

High in the sky, three KC-130s refueled the remaining Freelance aircraft. Mobius was demolished down to five jets from their original nine, though two of them managed to eject. Thanatos suffered only jet losses, and four pilots wouldn't be flying the mission against the enemy base simply because there were no replacement jets.

Jack survived, of course, as well as the Ghosts. He flew in formation as the remaining Thanatos pilots were gathered into a single flight of six, while Mobius gathered into two flights of four. The jets finished refueling, and the KC-130s pulled out in favor of the single AC-130 "Spooky" that Thanatos had. The gray and black jet flew in a low pattern over the enemy base… what was left of it.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" William asked himself as his Wyvern pulled next to the two Tomcats. "That was some fine flying out there, Mobius," he declared to the whole squadron. "See, this proves that we are more than just replacements," He grinned to himself as the squadrons joined up in formation. He noticed the rear Tomcat pull up behind him, but ignored it.

Behind him, the helmeted pilot aimed his boresight at the dual engines of the Wyvern. A single shell in each would cripple the jet from flying for a long time. However…

Glen shook his head and pulled away, joining up with the Mobius JSF. He looked back over at the Wyvern as it sped on ahead, and closed his eyes. He set the autopilot in his F-14A before leaning back and closing his eyes.

Mobius and Thanatos flew off, the sun to their side beginning to sink into the sea.

-

_Fall of the Phoenix_

_Chapter:09 – Myths and Legends, Phoenixes and Demons_

-

**3 Days Later**

"So… what should we call it?"

"It _looks_ like a giant Spirit, but then…"

"It's not a stealth bomber,"

"So what is it?"

The dim light overhead swung back and forth.

"…God?"

"Maybe it's the Devil,"

Chris and the others stared at the pictures Rei's fighter had taken. All that was there was the massive enemy airship… and pictures of Rena's fall to Earth.

"So how should we do this?" Chris asked. "From what I hear, Mobius and Thanatos were also completely unprepared for their fight, and incurred losses… from what I understand; they weren't supposed to take a scratch,"

"Many things have happened that shouldn't have," Erick muttered. "Mobius and Thanatos have suffered some losses, yes, but not enough to hinder them. Temnota will also be short one pilot, but that's not a problem either. What we need is a contingency plan… something we don't have," he looked up at one of the leaders in the back: RM. "Well, what you suggest?"

RM looked down at the "composite" diagram of the giant airship. "We need to launch a three-prong attack," he said simply.

"Well, I know that," Erick replied half-heartedly. "But that doesn't give me a plan,"

"Allow me," Cid said suddenly. He walked up and made a composite sketch on the map of the enemy "base", along with the original attack vector. "A three prong attack would involve the entire FA, and require us to use all our resources effectively. First, we use the Black Adler flight to establish an attack screen, to distract the enemy, but also to attack the enemy unit directly. That's the first prong; establish a distraction,"

"The second prong requires use of the other two AI flights," Cid continued. "Load up all of our bombers with the heaviest and most powerful missiles stored in the base. We load them up on each bomber and fighter to their max load, and send them off. About five minutes into the Black Adler screen's fight, they will launch all of their weapons at once. That alone should be enough to destroy this beast,"

"Prong number three requires the use of the remaining squadrons. Temnota, Mobius, and Thanatos will combine into a large squadron of jets, armed with nothing but IR missiles and maximum gun loads, and send them to establish air supremacy. The combined might of the entire FA should be enough to destroy the super jet, destroy what base defenses they have, and hopefully rescue our downed pilot,"

"Speaking of which, I believe that we should form a small group of jets to find and get the girl out," Erick commented. "I was thinking a small wing of three jets to go in and get her out during the fight," he looked at all of the pilots. "I believe that Airman Fukai would be the wingman of the flight, with AFC Septiano from Thanatos as a third pilot," he looked at the silent figure in the back of the room. "Captain Galan-"

"No,"

"…What?" Erick stared at the dark haired pilot as he lifted himself from the wall and walked up to the gathered leaders.

"I said no," he repeated. "I will not be a part of the rescue operation. Use Anderson; he's better as part of a team,"

"What about you, then?"

"Put me under Temnota, and give me a jet; I don't think Randolph appreciates the fact I took one of his men,"

Erick considered the idea and nodded. "Very well, you'll take Fukai's place as Chris's wingman. You'll use the F-14A you commandeered from the Mobius pilot," The naval captain nodded before turning and walking out of the conference room. As the door closed, a draft of air pushed the overhead light. The Colonel looked at the other pilots and nodded.

It was time to continue preparations.

-

Rena opened her eyes as a blinding light seared through her eyelids. Her green orbs shot a glance around the room, but all that there was in the room was her, tied to a chair, with an overhead light so high up she couldn't see the top. Looking about, Rena noticed that, as had been for the past two days, she was in a hangar.

There was a cold voice that swept through the room as she tested the bindings on her wrists and ankles, her gloved hands too tired from loss of blood to be of much use. She gave up as the voice drew closer.

"Amidst the eternal waves of time…" it said as the voice approached. Rena strained to recognize the voice, but lost its owner. It was the first voice she had heard since her capture… so this must have been the interrogator. "From a ripple of change shall the storm rise…" A figure stopped at the end of the light and peered with dark intent back at Rena. The girl focused on those eyes, staring at them with the same intensity. "Out of the abyss peer the eyes of a demon…"

Rena recognized the prose.

"Behold the Razgriz, its wings of black sheath," she finished for him. With that, the pilot stepped forward.

He was young, probably only a few years older than her. He wore a black flight suit with red trim, an odd patch on the side that resembled an inverted pentagram with three diamonds surrounding it in a triangle formation, surrounded by a snake biting its own tail. As an odd mockery of the ISAF forces, a dull set of three triangles, also encircled by the snake, were set on the gloves of the pilot, who watched her with cold eyes.

The pilot himself would have seemed handsome to her at any other time. He had bright red hair that fell short of his ears, unkempt and wild. His eyes were bright yellow as they looked down at her from their perch on his chiseled, pale face. He was a stark sight of bright colors. But, something about the pilot haunted her, something inhuman about the way he looked down at her…

The thoughts were interrupted as suddenly the pilot was in the young girl's face, staring at her intently as his breathing became ragged and uneven. He blinked slowly, almost like… like he was considering something foul.

"Why… hello, pilot Davenport," whispered the pilot in the girl's ear. He bared his teeth, two of them fanged, before pulling back and staring her in the eye once again. "Fancy meeting one such as yourself here… on this facility,"

"Who are you?" Whispered the Temnota pilot as the man leaned back and stood.

"I am the embodiment of all which is to be destroyed," said the pilot, walking backward toward the darkness. He lifted his arms. "I am that which haunts you at night, the nightmare in the sea of dreams; I am the bump in the night, the ghost in the halls, the bullet that kills, and the fighter that flies," his arms went higher. "I am the demon that soars through the dark skies; Fear and death trail my shadow beneath,"

"Until Man, united, wields it's hallow saber," Rena said, a smirk appearing on her face. "When in Final Reckoning, the beast is slain," the pilot lowered his arms and leaped, pouncing on both the chair and the girl that sat in it. Both toppled to the ground.

"Tell me, pilot Davenport," whispered the pilot as he caressed her cheek. The girl looked away as he listened. "Do you believe in the Demon of Razgriz?"

"Yes, I do," Rena replied, turning to look the pilot in the eye. "I believed the demon manifested itself as Mobius One," to that, the pilot cackled with glee and jumped off the chair, whirling around and kicking it up. Rena's body lurched and the girl felt dizzy, but she stayed conscious.

"Then pilot, surely you believe in the King of Ouroboros?"

"The King of-" Rena scoffed. "That is an outlandish legend, far more unlikely to occur than the Demon of Razgriz," She watched as the pilot circled her chair, muttering to himself before clasping the chair suddenly and turning it around, facing the red-haired pilot.

"Oh, but the King does live," he whispered. "He is everywhere. He guides my missiles, destroys your fighters, and has sired me to this world," he held up a finger. "For you see, pilot Davenport, the King Ouroboros is my Father,"

"Impossible," Rena replied.

"You're in no position to argue, my child," the pilot argued, leaping backward and drawing something from the darkness. "Surely, you know what I speak of when I speak of the King Ouroboros?"

"Of course I do," Rena replied. "I've heard the legend since I was a child,"

-

_It is said that every so often, when mankind is about to approach a new threshold in the universe, the King Ouroboros appears._

_The King is a demon, really. He is said to be the embodiment of humanity's greed, envy, and lust for power. By using these forces, it creates three children; one of evil, one of good, and one of "shadow", which is a balance between the two. And then, the King sleeps._

_In this slumber, the King gathers followers through the child of evil. In the legends, these followers are soldiers from every front, dead men brought back to life to serve the one True Lord of the Earth. These men are known as the Slaves of Ouroboros._

_The King then builds his forces until, in a single blow, destroys the governments of the world and rules it for his own. The children of good and "shadow" are killed or lost; the legends vary. However, when the King controls the world, the children return…_

_No one knows the ending to the King of Ourboros, for it has never ended._

-

"And the ending will be…" the pilot whispered. "That the King will rule the earth," he grinned as he produced a gun. Aiming straight up, he fired a single shell. The bullet caught in the only light, winking it out of existence.

"And all that's left is Darkness, young Davenport," the pilot whispered. "Only you and me…"

"But who are you?" Rena asked. Suddenly, she felt warmth on her shoulder.

"I am… call me Nodsri," he whispered. "The ace pilot… in the Slaves of Ouroboros,"

-

A gloved hand reached down and pulled a box out of a coat pocket. Tipping the box over, a white cigarette came out and landed into the open hand. The carton was placed back and a lighter was produced. A quick light started burning the nicotine and tobacco in the death stick. The pilot took a drag and let the smoke out through his nose.

"Hey," a voice said. The man looked up into the blue eyes of Captain Chris Johnson. "Last time we met in the generator section of the base, you and I had a little spat," he looked around.

"…That's right," replied the pilot, his gray eyes looking at the door on the far end of the room. "Perhaps it's time I took my leave," As he lifted himself from the wall, the blond-haired pilot took a step in front of him, blue eyes staring at his gray.

"Now wait a second," he said. "Before you go… there's something I want you to do for me,"

"There's nothing I can do for you," replied the dark pilot. "Now, if you'll excuse me," with that, he sidestepped past the Temnota leader and made his way to the door. Chris kept his back to him for a second before slowly turning, pulling the sheathed blade of his sword from his back. In a swift motion, he lifted back and hurled it.

The blade spun through the air, unsheathing in mid-flight, straight at the former Navy's pilot's back. At the last second, the pilot sidestepped, turned, grabbed the blade itself with his gloved hands, and spun it to his left, using his right to catch the sheath. His gray eyes never blinked once. Chris, despite himself, laughed.

"So you really do have the skill," he said. He walked up to the navy pilot and looked into his eyes. "Just like your profile said; you and I both have accomplished skills with weaponry," the gray-eyed pilot sheathed the white blade and handed it back to Chris. "But… I see no weapon,"

"The best weapon is the concealed kind, " replied the Captain, opening his coat to the side to reveal a black-and-red hilted weapon. "This is a retractable blade; it extends to its full length with the press of a button… but it's not meant to be used on you,"

"Then what is it for?"  
"For something beyond your comprehension," Chris glared.

"Are you saying I'm weak?"

"I'm saying that I could beat you,"

"You could do no such thing,"

"Are you certain?"

"Yes, of course I'm certain!"

"You've never even seen me fight. I may be able to kill you in a single blow,"

"I know you well enough to where you won't do that,"

"Do you?"

"…Yes, I do,"

There was a pause as both pilots looked at each other, unwavering eyes staring at the other.

"So who taught you?" Chris eventually asked.

"I taught myself a skill unique to me and one other," was the reply.

"Who would that be?"

"Someone I hope you never meet,"  
"And what's so bad about them?"

Glen turned away from him. "This argument is pointless," he muttered. "Don't make me fight you… I have no desire to,"

"I'm not giving you much of a choice, Captain," Chris replied, unsheathing his blade. The phoenix etching reflected the Navy Captain's distorted self. "I don't know how you fight, but I want to see you fight… to prove that you'll be a capable pilot in the future,"

"I know all of your moves, Johnson," Glen's sudden reply came. "Don't make me fight a predictable battle,"

"Wait, how do you know how I fight?" Chris asked, lowering his blade briefly. "You didn't see me fight… you never have,"

"It's in the way you carry yourself," Glen told him, turning around; much to Chris's satisfaction, an extended blade was in the pilot's left hand. "I can tell how a person fights – on air or on ground – by the way they are. I know if you're aggressive, or defensive, or if you make low swings, or like to use AMRAAM missiles,"

"But how?" Chris asked.

"It's all a matter of the soul,"  
"The soul?"

"Yes… the thing that every living being possesses. Some people carry their souls with great effort, like a weight on the world; these people grow up to be best friends, right hand men, powers behind the throne. Others use their soul to corrupt that of others," He lifted the blade. "For example, you carry your soul with the heart of a warrior. You will die in battle, but it will not be in vain. Your fate is that of a warrior; to live young and to die fast. I expect that the coming years will be quite interesting for you," His blade crossed his field of vision, facing flat.

In response, Chris lifted his sword.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Glen asked him, once again. Chris nodded. "Then let's begin, Phoenix,"

With that, they fought.

And the ringing of steel against steel was the lullaby of the world that night.

-

Jonathan walked down the lonely halls of Bronze Gate One. They were tense, unfamiliar, like that of a new home. The long halls reminded him of the carrier he used to live on, with its halls filled with crew and the hangars dedicated to serving a select few jets. He smirked; this wasn't a carrier, and the ceiling above him was unfamiliar.

As he rounded a corner to the briefing set up specifically for him and a couple of other pilots, he was suddenly grabbed and thrown to the wall. He gasped and shook his head from the shock, looking up to see his assailant. He saw before him the glaring eyes of William Randolph.

"What… what is it?" he asked wryly.

"You make a mockery of me!" was the sudden shout as William swung a fist at the Navy pilot. Jonathan widened his eyes, raising an arm to block and getting out of the way as fast as he could. "You and your cursed Captain both made a fool of _me_!"

"And how did we do that?" Jonathan managed to ask before ducking under another blow; one which impacted the stone walls, cracking the smooth surface.

"You commandeered my pilots' jets!" William shouted. "And like a common dog, you thought you could run with the wolves!"

"We can do this mission in Cats better than your pilots though,"

"_You will never be as good as Mobius squadron, you bastard!"_

Jonathan had had enough. It was time to end this nonsense. As William came in for another blow, Jonathan set his body and charged him, picking up the shocked pilot and lifting him over his shoulder, throwing him over and to the ground. Will gasped as the air was knocked from his lungs. Jonathan quickly ran over and reared back a leg, launching it forward and kicking Will in the temple. The Mobius leader went unconscious.

"That's for insulting my men," Jonathan growled, turning and walking away, leaving the Mobius pilot to the wings of unconsciousness.

-

Rei stepped out of his room, making some last minute adjustments to his flight suit as he did so. Looking around briefly, he began walking off toward the briefing room.

He had failed… or so he thought. It was his job as the wing lead to protect his allies, not to let them fall to the ground. As he continued walking to the briefing room, a growing uncertainty grew in his gut. What if he had another wingman for this mission? He and Rena had only been on a few sorties together, but he couldn't imagine a different Raven on his wing; despite himself, he had let the young girl grow on him.

Even the post-invasion air of Bronze Gate One a while back didn't stop the interaction between the two, even though it was Rena who did most of the talking. It seemed like there was a connection between him and the young girl, though in Rei's case it was more appreciative than whatever it was the young Davenport felt for him. He wasn't dense – he knew that she was at least a little attracted to him – but it… wasn't _him_ to feel the same.

But still…

_I won't let another wingman fall._ He thought to himself. He nodded resolutely. _And I will save Rena_.

But as he made his stand against himself, Rei felt the stings of uncertainty whip at him.

-

"Excuse me, but are you Mr. Septiano?" The tan pilot looked up.

"What? Oh, I mean, yes, I am," he looked into the brown eyes of another pilot, who sat down next to him and smiled lightly.

"Nice to meet you," she said, extending a hand of greeting. "My name is Jaime. Jaime Earl," the Thanatos pilot grinned shyly and took her hand. It was greeted with a firm handshake.

"N-nice to meet you, too," he stuttered, blushing slightly. The girl grinned back at him. "Why did you ask who I was?"

"Well," Jaime began. "You and a couple other pilots have been called off to the briefing room. Some sort of special engagement, so I hear, while the rest of us fight off the enemy… thing," she shrugged. "I was just letting you know that it was time – and I wanted to look in the face of one of the 'special' pilots," Juan managed a wry smile at that. "What?"

"Not very impressive, is it?" he asked her nonchalantly. To that, Jaime stood up and leaned over the table, looking into the younger pilot's eyes.

"You'd be surprised, Juan," she whispered.

"You'd be very surprised,"

-

"Did you say 'Nodsri'?" Rena asked.

"Yes, that is my name, Rena Davenport," replied the Slave. "And this is the jet which will murder your allies!" At once, the lights flickered on, revealing a terrible sight.

What _should_ have been an F/A-22 Raptor hung from behind Nodsri. It was suspended with its nose pointed toward the sky, hanging from sharpened hooks that penetrated key parts of its nose and wings. Its metal armor was black, blacker than Thanatos', and it was smeared with red. The coppery smell that invaded Rena's nostrils told her that the red on the jet was blood. The nose seemed to have been forced into a longer shape, closer to a Black Widow's than a Raptor's.

On the wings, two black spears were mounted, their tips pointed with an almost out of place silver sheen. The tails were mounted with similar spears, and the design on both wing and tail was that of the Slaves of Ouroboros. Behind the black canopy, the gray triangles on Nodsri's gloves were painted, strangely visible against the black jet.

Rena felt an evil presence come from the jet as she stared at it. It seemed to look back at her until the psychotic pilot stepped in front of her vision.

"It's a beautiful sight, isn't it?" he sneered.

"It's disgusting," Rena spat, obviously unamused. At once, the red-haired pilot again kicked her chair to the ground.

"Silence, filthy whore!" he screamed, planting a heavy boot on the girl's small stomach. "You know nothing, _nothing_, about my child!" He lifted his boot and slammed it down furiously on her stomach.

"Nothing, bitch!" Nodsri shouted again. "Nothing, nothing, _nothing!!!"_

-

"Greetings, pilots," Erick addressed firmly. In front of him, three young pilots, none of which had seen each other before, stood tall. Juan stood to the right and back, his young face melancholy. Jonathan stood to the left, and the same distance back, looking very pleased with himself for taking out William earlier. In front of them, Rei stood, his face set firm and unrevealing. His eyes stared ahead dully as he listened.

"Welcome to a special briefing I've set up for the three of you," he said. "No one else will get this information; not only that, but you three will also be the ones who must do this," with that, he opened the holographic projector's file on the base Rei had returned from. The Raven flinched, but no other emotion escaped. "This is a map of Base 'Alpha'," he pushed a button, and a second image overlaid on the first; the image of the chrome-colored vessel hovering over the base.

"For the time being, this is Priority 2 for you three," Erick explained. "The real objective for you three is much simpler than trying to take out that thing; to put simply, you three are to rescue AFC Rena Davenport,"

The reactions mixed. Rei let shock slip through. Jonathan looked slightly confused, and Juan just nodded solemnly.

"This mission is of vital importance, though you're not allowed to know why," Erick continued. He pushed the forward button again, and this time a third image appeared. This one had the familiar emblems of the squadrons, aligned in a broad formation, and heading straight for the giant ship. Another symbol, one unfamiliar to the pilots, was seen with an arrow projecting from it, in a wide arc, to the base. The symbol was a white feather.

"For the duration of the mission, you will be referred to as 'Angel Wing'," Erick told the three pilots. "While AI, Temnota, Mobius, and Thanatos take on the target, you three will sweep in and land on the base's runway. There, you will use the equipment we will provide you to go in and rescue both AFC Davenport and her MiG-21," Again, a button press, and the holographic projection zoomed in on the base. The feather was planted on the runway, and three smaller ones fanned out.

"Search all the hangars, barracks, and control rooms," Erick instructed. "Leave no stone unturned. Make sure you come back with Rena and her jet," he paused. "I would like to explain just why I need her rescued, but for now that's irrelevant," another pause. "Tomorrow morning, you will receive your load outs. That's the only other thing I can tell you," he looked the three in the eye. "You have your orders, pilots. Dismissed!"

"Yes, sir!"

"By the way; Fukai, she was your wing, so you're in charge. Don't screw up,"

"…Yes, sir,"

-

Rena was pulled back up to an upright position by her hair. She only groaned in pain as Nodsri slapped her again, simply out of spite.

"Don't ever insult her," he whispered coldly to her. He bent close to her face, staring her in the eye. "If you insult her again, I will destroy your very soul," Rena glared back at him the best she could, but her pain overwhelmed her. She fell unconscious.

Nodsri smirked, obviously satisfied. He walked away slowly, twirling his pistol on a finger, chuckling to himself. Rena's head lolled to the side, a low groan escaping her lips as the man departed from her presence. Slowly, she opened her eyes again, a flicker of feeling showing through them as she tried to sit upright. She glared far down at the maniacal pilot before closing her eyes and resigning herself to the pain.

-

"Man, this sucks," Jonathan complained mere moments later as the three pilots walked away from the briefing room and to the freshly cleaned halls of the dorm area. "Who are we to rescue a little girl who couldn't defend herself?"

"It's our job, Mr. Anderson," Juan replied. "Our mission; we're to rescue Miss Davenport,"

"But why us? What makes us so much more special? And why does mister Airman here get control of the op, when I'm the ranking officer here?"

"It's our orders," Juan repeated. "We can't break them,"

"Well, I don't like it,"

"You don't have to like it," Rei interrupted from in front of them. He looked over his shoulder. "I'm leader. That's a fact. You don't have to like it, Jonathan." The Navy pilot narrowed his eyes at the back of his allied pilot before sighing.

"I guess so," he muttered. "But you're right; I don't like it,"

Rei only smirked.

-

There was a whistle of wind, followed by a loud noise, similar to metal dragging against metal. A pause, then the noise echoed again. The generator room ringed with the sound of steel as the noise screeched through it a third time.

A _flash-pop_ sound was heard, and the only remaining light in the area flickered out; rather, it was severed from its power cable that ran toward the ceiling. There was a loud crash as the light fell to the floor, followed by another clang of steel. The room went almost completely dark, except for the soft blue glow of the generator's status lights.

Chris landed on the floor in a heap before leaping up on his feet, panting. His white-hilted blade gleamed blue, hanging loosely in his right hand at his side. His strained blue eyes darted from side to side, searching for his elusive target. He suddenly grinned before swinging around 180 degrees and swinging low with his blade. The result: a satisfying clash of steel as a seemingly invisible blade parried it.

Taking his cue, Chris leaped forward into the darkness, becoming almost invisible as he sheathed his blade. He paused, standing still, before starting to run. He had "found" his target. His boot steps echoed strangely silent against the floor as he raised his blade to the side. He then leaped again, planting his feet on the wall and running on it, bringing in his blade for a high cut.

As his sword nearly touched the ceiling, there was a strange noise, and then another clash of steel. Both swords were cut loose from the warriors' grasps, and both fell to the floor. They landed separately, Chris over here and the opponent over there. The Temnota pilot groaned in pain before spotting the shine of a sword. He scrambled up and ran to it, picking it up but tripping over himself.

There was a wind-against-wind sound, and Chris turned, pointing the blade out. As his eyes caught up with the rest of the movement, he found himself staring down the blade of his own weapon, while the sword he held stared down the opponent. Chris noted the black-and-red hilt of the weapon he held.

Glen, the opponent, didn't flinch, though his eyes spoke of exhaustion. Chris, too, wanted to collapse in a heap.

"Are we done?" the former Barracuda asked. Chris paused, and then nodded. Glen nodded back, and tossed the sword in the air.

Chris caught it with a strong arm.

-

"Attention, all pilots!"

Morning had come to Bronze Gate One. Outside, the hurricane's remnants were still ripping up the coast.

"Listen up! This will be the biggest mission of our war!"

At the head of the large briefing room, a single man stood. Erick von Long adjusted his hat and typed in a single command.

**ISAF TACCON V 4.5**

**LOADING…..**

**Please Enter Username: ErickandHat**

**Please Enter Password: **

**LOADING…**

**Warning:**

**The following is accessible to ANGEL/0A staff only.**

**PLEASE CONFIRM: Y/N?**

Erick typed "Y".

An image popped up quickly, showing the local airspace around the enemy base.

"Pilots," Erick began, turning to stare at the thirty pilots that had assembled there. "This is base Alpha," the base was outlined and flashed three times, and a heading came up that read "Priority Two". "And this is the enemy superweapon," A triangle formed on the screen about a mile ahead of the airbase, was highlighted three times, and read "Priority One". "It's a massive airship, so big that a jet's HUD systems can't target the ship alone," a set of images cropped up of the shots Rei and Rena had taken of the jet… and a set of three or four showed the cannon that took out Rena's MiG-21.

There was a collective gasp, followed by murmurs and talk. Rei grimaced as Erick silenced the crowd.

"What are we, a coffee shop?" the old colonel asked before continuing. "Our main objective is to take out this enemy ship, with a secondary objective of taking out all ground forces at base Alpha," five icons popped up on the far upper-left corner of the map. Most were familiar: The raven of Temnota, the bear of Air Ixiom, the scythe of Thanatos, and the ribbon of Mobius. The fifth icon, a white feather, was unknown to all but three pilots.

"Here's the plan," Erick instructed. An arrow came from Air Ixiom's symbol, straight toward the massive triangle. "Air Ixiom will attack in the first wave. I want Eagles on point with heavy cruise missile support from the heavy bombers. You guys will serve as the heavy arm of the attack; you need to take out the super jet and the base Anti-Aircraft and SAM emplacements," a murmur rose from the Air Ixiom part of the room. For once, they would see some action. He could see Michael, his escort during the infiltration of the base, smiling with appreciation. Erick neglected to mention that the Eagles would be in first, be a distraction, and probably suffer a few casualties.

"After the first assault, Temnota and Mobius will come in and start air supremacy operations. You will be loaded to the teeth with off-bore sight infrared missiles and as many bullets as your jets can hold. I will be flying with you guys in my Phantom, and pilot Galanodel will take pilot Johnson's place as wingman,"

There was a pause.

"Guys, I'm not good as this stuff," Erick said slowly. "Encouraging others is not what I do. But, there's something I got to say," he paused, looking each pilot in the eye. He then took a deep breath.

"Let's stir up Hell and kick their asses!"

There was a resounding cheer from the briefing room.

-

Mere minutes after the briefing, the whole of the FA were ready to take off and fight. Each jet primed and fired their thrusters as they started to taxi to the two catapults and runway. Air Ixiom was the first off the ground, their F-15s shooting out of the catapults two at a time, while escorting their prized bombers into the sky. The Eagles took up a point position in front as they jetted forward.

Erick and Angel Wing were next up. The seasoned colonel had requested a special armament today; his fighter was loaded to the teeth with 20mm gun pods mounted on his wings. Six gun pods, three on each wing, plus the one in the nose, served to be over 10000 rounds of Vulcan death.

Rei's fighter was situated like his Temnota brethren. Enough IR missiles to make any pilot happy were loaded into his internal bays, with an extra six on his external pylons. In total, there were about sixteen missiles loaded onto his jet. He was short-range death.

Jonathan's Tomcat was loaded slightly differently from normal. Instead of the AIM-54 Phoenix, he had opted for the more modern AIM-120 AMRAAM on his wings, as they were lighter, meaning more could be loaded. Six AMRAAM missiles, plus 4 Sparrows and 4 Sidewinders, made his 'Cat a weapons platform of all ranges.

Juan's Wyvern was the most uniquely equipped of the three. Instead of normal missiles, he had asked instead to be loaded with nothing but long range Air-to-Ground missiles, thus ensuring that the three jets could make it to the enemy runway without being shot down by SAM fire.

Erick and Rei's fighters rocketed out of the catapults just as the other two jets made it into the air and joined them. Erick broke off and went to fly with Temnota, to make the Mobius 1's position.

It seemed that William had been rendered unconscious sometime earlier.

The rest of the squadrons then took off. Three Ghosts seemed to fly amongst the water. Temnota went high and soared with the birds, their Yuke jets catching up easily with the Air Ixiom Bombers and Strike Craft. The remaining Thanatos jets spread out on the horizon line, their fields of fire overlapping. Mobius squadron followed Erick into echelon formation, hovering off to the right of the bombers. Lastly, Angel Wing flew low and fast.

When all was quiet at Bronze Gate One, the only thing remaining was the security force, command staff, and the rest of her crew.

The FA had mobilized.

-

_Fall of the Phoenix_

_Chapter: 09 – Angel Squadron_

-

"Air Ixiom, standby,"

Mike grinned as his flight cut through the clouds. Erick's voice seemed distant on the radio.

"This is the beginning of the fight. Be prepared for everything,"

"Air Ixiom, roger,"

"…Good luck, guys,"

Michael switched channels.

"All right, men, let's get ready to rumble!" he heard Raneses shout. "All aircraft follow me!" He pulled his F-15S/MTD into a tight twist, pulling down and tumbling under the clouds. The other four Eagles followed suit, following him fast and under the clouds, spinning in a tight barrel roll. As the jets pulled under the clouds, air swirling past their canopies, they saw nothing but ocean water below. Raneses, far out in front, leveled out with a roll and ignited his afterburners. The other Eagles followed suit.

It was then they got a full view of their enemy.

"No way…" Susan whispered.

"That can't be right," Jaime muttered.

"…Is the distance to the target correct?" Michael asked, checking his instrument panels. "Holy shit… that thing's _huge!_"

The second flight of Air Ixiom, their strike craft replaced instead with Strike Eagles, flew from above. The flight of four joined up with the flight of five that composed Black Adler.

"We'll be joining up with you guys," the lead pilot said. "We're under your command, Raneses,"

"Roger that," RM replied. "Stand by," He typed in some keypad combinations, and activated a single missile on his jet. It was a TAG – Tactical Acquisition Guidance – missile, modified from an original AIM-120, jury-rigged on top of his left wing, which was to be launched from his jet and attach itself to the hull of the massive vessel. This would send a signal from the missile to the Panzer bomber unit, which would use heavy cruise missiles to take out the enemy jet.

But there was a problem. The advanced electronics embedded into the missile left little room for fuel. It had just under the maximum range of a Sidewinder's coverage distance, so they had to get in close and engage the super-jet head on.

"Adler One to Hijacker, confirm position, over," Raneses called over the comm.

High above, an E-767 and her EA-10D escort watched the impending fight.

"This is AWACS Hijacker, roger," the pilot of the jet replied. He checked the reports from the other officers on the jet. "Approximately 25 klicks from the enemy position, over,"

"Roger that, Hijacker," Raneses confirmed. "25 klicks and closing fast," he switched channels again. "Combined Black Adler flight, this is Adler One, engage at will. I repeat, _get your asses in gear!_"

"Adler Wing, roger,"

"Adler 3 and 4, roger,"

"Adler 5 through 9, roger,"

Raneses gunned it, sending his jet screaming forward toward the target, simultaneous with a clash of thunder and lightning, signaling the beginning of another storm.

Jamie and Susan cut right and high, while Michael led the rest of the flight left and low, cutting against the suddenly turbulent waters. Their afterburners glowed blue with fire as they screamed for the target.

-

Rena opened her eyes.

It was dim in the hangar, but the doors were open. She could see the silhouette of Nodsri's Raptor against the dull light. She could also see Nodsri himself, standing at the end of the hangar, his hand pushing against the door as he leaned himself on it. He watched the sky as rain started to pour down. The girl stared inquisitively, and opened her mouth to speak.

"It's raining," he suddenly called out to her. "Would you like to come see?" Rena stared suspiciously before looking away from him, down at her bound feet. She stared at her boots for a second before she realized that they weren't bound like they used to be. She checked her hands to find that they, too, were no longer bound to the chair. Cautiously, the pilot stood up, testing her balance after barely walking for three days. She limped toward Nodsri on the other end of the hangar.

Looking back, the red-haired pilot seemed different. The fire of insanity and anger no longer burned in his eyes, seemingly stamped out by the rain itself. He walked over to the young girl and held out a helping hand to her. Tentatively, she reached out and started to take his hand when suddenly she lost her balance and fell right onto the surprised pilot.

"This is not how I wish to conduct myself, Rena," Nodsri whispered before standing her up straight and walking her to the door of the hangar. He waved his arm, showing her the pouring rain, and the jet above, which seemed to push the rain off its very hull. Curious, the girl looked up, one arm draped around the oddly friendly pilot.

"So what is this for?" she finally asked. Nodsri simply grinned.

"We call it the B-2X Tempest," he started telling her. "Technically, that's not correct; but it's what my King wanted to call it. It's final form will be able to carry within her hulls the bodies of 100 fighters, though for now she only houses a skeleton crew and the components necessary to fire her secondary weapons, and allow the primary weapon, the Fusion Ray, to be fired twice,"

"The 'Fusion Ray'?" Rena echoed.

"A weapon with the power of a hundred nuclear bombs, without the nasty side affect of radiation," Nodsri explained. Rena nodded, and looked back out into the rain. A silence fell between the two for a second.

"Why… why are you telling me this?" she asked him. Suddenly, the pilot pointed out, in front of the Tempest, to the waters outside. Rena could barely make out speeding forms heading for her.

"They're coming to rescue you," he said. "But I will kill them," he grinned. "Every… last… one…"

-

Michael brought his part of the flight up, his HUD's targeting display modified to highlight the bridge and every weapon emplacement, of which there were 20 known ones, and the engines. He switched to AMRAAM missiles and waited for Raneses to give the word, but then reconsidered; there were quite a few anti-air emplacements on the base behind the jet. He switched channels to the two girls of the FA.

"Eve, Susan, this is Zaku," he said. "Forget the jet; we need to take out those AA emplacements,"

"Adler 3 and 4, roger," both girls' voices came over the channel. A few seconds later, two Eagles joined the flight next to Michael. He nodded to the two girls before readjusting his heading, facing instead the base under and behind the jet.

"Here we go…" he whispered. He closed his eyes and prayed silently for a second.

"This is Flashpoint, I'm launching the TAG now!" shouted the Air Ixiom leader. Mike opened his eyes.

"Adlers, let's go!" he screamed. "Break, break and attack!"

The Eagles exploded into motion as the TAG shot from Raneses' wing. Three went low while the rest burned ahead. Michael and Eve shot low and right, curving around in a wide arc to target the AA guns and Flak Cannons on the western side of the base. He armed his AGM-56F Maverick missiles and began to lock on to the enemy targets that he had designated.

"Arming Magnums," he whispered to himself, watching as the gun emplacements seemed to swivel around and point their barrels right at his canopy. His Mavericks highlighted the emplacement in red, along with three other targets – a SAM site and two more AA guns – before screaming the shrill tone that indicated lock-on.

"Adler 2, Magnum!" he screamed, pulling the trigger of his flight stick four times in rapid succession. Next to him, the Strike Eagle pilots pulled the same maneuver, firing off their Mavericks in a hail of missile fire. The AGM-56s twisted and contrailed before dropping like bombs right on top of their targets. Across his field of view, Mike noticed that over half of the AA emplacements became slag – some of them more so, as two or three Mavericks impacted their weak hulls.

The remaining AA emplacements twisted and opened fire on the Black Adlers as they immediate broke into flights of two.

"No, don't fly in two-man flights!" Mike shouted at he watched the slower-turning Strike Eagles break off. "They'll be able to-" he was interrupted by a shrill scream and a hiss of static as two Eagles flying over were turned into scrap by a multiple impact of Flak, Missile, and AA gun. "Damnit!"

He was so preoccupied with avoiding enemy flak that he never noticed the F/A-18E Super Hornets preparing to take off on the runway, piloted by remote computers…

-

The TAG twisted in mid-air, hurtling its way toward the giant airship in the sky. As it neared the Point of No Return, the thruster attached to its back broke off, and four spindly arms spread out from the mechanism. The arms assumed a claw-like posture as the warhead-like tip of the TAG receded into itself, reversing and coming out the rear portion of the machine.

The TAG collided with the chrome hull above the bridge. The arms dove into the hull, piercing the skin with their diamond-tipped points. There, they sent out eight spindles, threads that connected to the other arms, ensuring that it wouldn't fall of so easily. A laser designator opened up in the reversed warhead and sent a signal to the Panzer flight of the Air Ixiom squadron.

Five bombers awaited the signal. 2 B-2 Spirits, 3 B-1B Lancers, and two A-10 Thunderbolt "escorts", armed with various types of long-range missile, received a signal.

The lead pilot, callsign Carpet Bomber, looked up and ahead, through the clouds and at his HUD, which displayed a single box, labeled "TAG". He immediately opened a channel to the other pilots.

"Listen up boys," he called. "Radar displays a TAG fifty clicks from our position. All weapons are free to be fired. Fire along the horizon line, spread pattern Epsilon Three," another pilot in his bomber set the proper pattern; a green oval spread around the approximate length of the super-jet from this distance. "This is Kampfer 1, fire at will, over,"

All seven jets acquired a tone on the TAG and their spread pattern. From the A-10s launched jury-rigged AIM-120 AMRAAM missiles, four on each wing; from the Lancers came a barrage of Tomahawk Cruise Missiles; finally, from the B-2 Spirits, came a set of reformatted D-5 Trident Ballistic Missiles, called the D-6 Pitchfork; a non-nuclear, shorter version of the ICBM.

"Missiles away, Kampfer 1, over," reported an A-10 pilot. "Turning and burning back to base,"

"This is Kampfer 1, roger," Hiroyuki confirmed. "Let's head home, boys; good luck, Freelance,"

"That's our cue!" an aging voice shouted. "Combined Temnota/Thanatos/Mobius squadrons, attack!"

From above, below, and behind the turning bombers, a set of some 30 jets appeared, twisting and turning into a large delta wing formation as they sped toward the target, ready to do battle with the inevitable AI-controlled fighters that would show up. Erick led the pack in his F-4X Super Phantom II, one hand on the throttle and the other restraining an itchy trigger finger, following the cruise missiles close behind with his wing of Mobius pilots.

Mobius squadron had only been slightly reduced in numbers. Of the original 10 pilots, six remained, and each pilot flew his own unique fighter, though all were set with the familiar ribbon that had become feared throughout the former Erusan Dictatorship. They willingly followed their leader into the fray. Sasha was one of these pilots, her tiny JSF dwarfed by Erick's F-4, but armed nonetheless with enough AIM-9X Sidewinders to match his skills with the Vulcan.

Phoenix burned his Terminator up next to Erick's, barrel-rolling next to him, just below the Phantom's position. He left behind nine determined Temnota pilots, all of them set to engage the enemy one-on-one in a duel to the death, even though their enemy was likely to be unnamed and unmanned.

Joseph scorched his fighter across the sky, flying above and to the left of Erick. The Ghost and Spectre flights hung on the edge of the formation, almost seeming to fade out of sight and out of mind.

The three leading FA jets leveled out, the pilots looking at each other and nodding. Erick clicked on the comm.

"Captain Galanodel, are you coming up here or not?" He asked, waiting for the response that would inevitably come.

"…Roger that, Colonel," was the slow, quiet reply. The meager F-14A that flew out-of-place in Temnota's section of the line barrel rolled to end up behind and above the leading three. As if on cue, the other pilots lifted up, putting the four into a diamond spearhead, with the delta wing coming off of the Tomcat's position.

The 30-ship formation broke through the cloud formation to see that the Cruise missiles and AMRAAM missiles had ended up in a broad formation; five seconds from hitting the target, while below a battle began…

-

Nodsri cackled with insane glee as he watched the missiles break through the clouds.

"Do they think it will be that easy?" he asked, letting go of Rena and almost shoving her aside into the path of two F/A-18s screaming by, taking off to engage the Eagles in the sky. Rena had been staring at the Air Ixiom pilots as they managed to evade the enemies that chased them while downing a few of their own. When she had been thrown down, she noted the lead F-15S/MTD rejoining the squadron.

The insane pilot stared in wonder as the missiles began to close in on the Tempest.

"_It will not fall!"_ he managed to scream. Rena looked at the missiles as they moved ever so closer to the Tempest, the crew seemingly undisturbed by the incoming ballistic missiles that approached. Maybe, she reasoned, they weren't able to evade on time, that they had accepted their fate and would die here.

But it wasn't to be so. As the missiles were a second away from impacting the Tempest, Rena noticed that something like a plastic sheath had melded around the super jet, enveloping it completely. She managed to note that the material seemed to move before the explosion.

-

The AMRAAM missiles struck first.

They impacted on the leading edge of the Tempest's hull, the sound of fire and crushing metal meeting the ears of everyone who could hear it. The cruise missiles followed next in a rush of power and metal fire, their large warheads concaving briefly before detonating, sending shockwaves throughout the entire airspace. Rena and Nodsri were thrown off their feet, and two more launching F/A-18Es almost skidded off the runway.

The explosions ripped through the sky, and black smoke consumed the Tempest and the local area. Mike lost his visual lock on an enemy Hornet, which had multiplied into some ten jets since the battle began, added to the two SAM emplacements still intact. The shockwave shook his fighter's fuselage to the core, and for a second he was sure he was dead.

The shockwave carried out to the 30-man formation, almost all of its pilots cheering in glee as the Tempest seemed to disappear in a haze of fire and smoke. Their jets shook in the turbulence, but remained unharmed.

On the ground, Nodsri stood and cackled again with glee.

"Those fools!" he shouted. "Those pathetic fools! My Tempest, show them how to be a God!" He laughed as the smoke cleared, revealing that the Tempest remained unharmed. The plastic sheath disappeared for a second, but then returned full force over the hull. "Show them what it's like to have an energy shield!"

"Energy… shield…" Rena echoed as the Tempest's rear engines began to glow blue. "My God in Heaven…"

-

Of course, the pilots of the Freelance Alliance noticed this too.

"No fuckin' way," Mike groaned as he twisted his jet between two fighters.

"You can't be serious…" Chris muttered under his breath.

"Looks like we underestimated them," Erick conceded. But the old pilot wasn't deterred for long. "All this means is a longer battle! Freelancers, don't be intimidated by this overgrown tanker! Take her out of the sky! Break and attack!"

The once solid formation broke into 2-ship flights of incredible proportions. Each two-man flight zeroed in on the Tempest.

-

Meanwhile, a three-man flight skimmed the water to the west. The lead jet was a repainted Berkut, its customary black and blue Temnota scheme replaced with the experimental "Angel One" scheme. The Berkut had a black fuselage with gray trim, though the nose was painted silver, with the image of a pair of angel wings on the sides. The tails were tipped with the same silver sheen, though these had two extra points that stuck out, like blades. The wings, however, were the most extravagant; they had been painstakingly painted and decaled to look like a pair of Angels' wings; every inch had been etched to look like genuine feathers, and even some extending plates of metal looked like tailing feathers.

The jet that looped around the Berkut into the forefront of the three-man group was painted in a similar state, though because of the jet's shape, it was moderately different. As the jet slowed down and her V-shaped wings unfurled, the Wyvern's "Angel" wings were painted black and gray, the colors of a fallen Angel.

The pilot, his helmet painted in a similar scheme, called out a series of commands.

"Throttle 40," he commanded. "Activate Multiple-Targeting Tracking Display, condition Air-to-Ground. Arm AGM-54 Mavericks, target all radar-emitting defensive emplacements first, and all enemy ground hangar facilities. Spread pattern is Hotel 5," The jet's onboard computers complied quickly, first activating the MTTD and giving the entire cockpit a green hue. The Mavericks armed as the on-HUD reticules targeted the two SAM emplacements, then eight hangars.

The Wyvern's internal weapons racks opened, revealing the plethora of Maverick missiles inside her. They seemed to be out of place – camo green to the black and white of the jet – but as they seemed to fall out of the jet like the rain around it, they changed color. The shrill tone of the cockpit's lock-on indicator and their simultaneous activation was music to the pilot's ears as he pulled up and away.

-

Meanwhile, Michael tried desperately to rally the remnants of the Black Adler flight. Raneses had ran out of missiles and was fighting solo, his Eagle twisting through fighters as they seemed to multiply in the sky. Eve and Susan had managed to stave off the enemy while the last two Strike Eagles from the Volksjaeger flight limped off, three of their men gone. The two men and two women of Black Adler were all that was left as another two jets took off.

"This is fuckin' insane!" Michael shouted, pulling up and right as a Sidewinder barely skimmed past his jet's canopy. "We're going to fuckin' die!"

"We're not going to fuck-ing die!" Raneses shouted back at him. "We're going to live! Damnit, Black Adlers, we've faced worse odds before! How much worse could it get?"

He was answered with the sound of a thunderclap. A bolt of lightning streaked by his jet, and looked up he saw why. The lower cannons of the Tempest became active, swiveling about and tracking the four Eagle pilots. The Hornets, meanwhile, regrouped with two more jets, making the F/A-18 total 16 to the Eagle 4.

"…you just _had_ to fuckin' ask," Michael growled.

-

Rena screamed and ducked her head as Nodsri laughed at the Eagles above.

"Do you see? Do you _see?_" he asked no one. "The Tempest rules all!"

As the words left his mouth, a series of explosions rocked the remaining two SAM sites. Nodsri growled and swiveled his head, but stopped as he stared at the eight black objects screaming to the rain. Rena noticed them to and hit the dirt.

The eight AGM-54 Mavericks entered the eight hangars and detonated. Nodsri screamed as he was blown forward thirty feet, tumbling before regaining his footing with almost inhuman speed. He ran past a barely conscious Rena into the burning hangar and looked at his hanging jet.

The missile scored a direct hit on the Raptor, and a gaping hole appeared where the center of the fuselage used to be. But even as he watched the Raptor, its fibers slowly sewed the hole shut, like a dirty scab; indeed, the patched-up hole that appeared seconds later was the color of flesh. Grinning darkly, Nodsri stepped forward and began climbing up the back of the jet.

Seconds later, the top of the Hangar burst, and a black Raptor soared into the sky.

-

And as he took off, the whole of the FA engaged the Tempest and her escorts.

_He _was first into the fray.

Pulling his jet into a tight roll, he fired off two Sidewinders immediately, striking two Hornets in their flanks and detonating their fuselages, sending two fireballs to the earth below. He swiveled on an invisible axis, changing directions in his jet with lightning speed. An instinct told him to look up at the Tempest; there, using the thing's massive bulk as camouflage, two Hornets bore down on him.

The pilot quickly pulled up and killed the throttle, initiating a Cobra maneuver. His jet grinded to a halt against the wind, and he fired two more Sidewinders. The small missiles streaked straight up, acquiring their locks on the Hornets. The AI controlled jets had little room to maneuver or dodge, leaving the weapons to grind their noses to dust before exploding.

Chris pulled out of the Cobra by stalling and screaming toward the ground. His engines came back to life as he engaged his afterburners, pulling up mere meters above the waters below. He nimbly dodged two more Hornets before joining up with his wingman.

"Captain," he said. "Do not follow my wing; your Tomcat can't pull off my maneuvers, over,"

"Negative," Glen shot back, firing off a Sidewinder at a Hornet. The two pilots paused for a half-second as the missile hit, severing the fighter in two. "My Cat is as agile as your Sukhoi, over," Above them, the Tempest charged two cannons and cut loose on the pilots below. Chris narrowly avoided the blast, but Glen was long out of the way before the cannon's blast shot past where he was.

"Temnota squadron, focus your fire on the enemy jet," Chris called. "There's gotta be a dent in that armor somewhere, over,"

"Raven 3, roger… wait, what's that?" Chris paused as he listened to the pilot. "Looks like a Raptor… wait, it's coming at us! Ahh!" The two Temnota pilots scanned the air, watching as four jets exploded into fire. At first, they believed it to be from the Tempest, but closer inspection revealed a Raptor, red and black, as the culprit.

Erick was on top of him in a second, guns blazing. The Raptor dodged with impossible speed, twisting and turning, using the Tempest's wings as cover. However, he couldn't hold out for long. Erick's multi-barreled Phantom unloaded a hail of bullets into the fuselage and ripped out the wings. The Raptor's engines screamed in protest as they were shot out.

And the jet fell… but not for long.

As she plummeted to the ground, there was a sickening sound, like of skin being ripped off. There was another, like bone breaking, against the Raptor. Suddenly, two new, flesh-colored wings ripped out of the jet with incredible force, bone protruding from its missile pylons. The engines seemed to bleed as they fired back to life, and the holes in the fuselage seamed over.

Everyone watching – Erick, Glen, Chris, and half the FA – almost died with surprise.

"_Behold the horrible, all-consuming terror…"_ the pilot growled. _"Of my Raptor!"_

"Damnit…" Chris muttered. "All right, I'll take him-"

"No!"

Chris looked over at his wingman.

Glen switched channels as the pilot screamed at Erick about how he was going to die.

"_Mark,"_ he called out. The Raptor faltered, twisting and pulling back toward the bottom of the Tempest. _"Mark,"_ he said again.

"…_you…_" the Raptor pilot, Nodsri, growled. "_How in the Hell are _you_ still alive?_"

"_I'll be alive until one of us is dead…_" Glen began. He caught sight of the Raptor, and charged. The engines in his Tomcat screamed as they broke the sound barrier, charging the Raptor as the Raptor began to charge back. Both armed Sidewinders.

"_And that is you…" _Glen watched the diamond and square meet in the middle of his HUD. His eyes smoldered with sudden fire.

"…_my brother!"_

Glen screamed as he fired his Sidewinder. Nodsri did likewise.

Both twisted their fighters at that exact moment.

And as both flew by each other, the two pilots looked up at each other. Time itself died as gray eyes stared into golden eyes, and both felt the intense gaze of the other. Behind them, their two Sidewinders struggled to keep up as both pilots felt the presence of the other in the cockpit with them.

And then time sped up again. The two jets blew by each other, their tails grinding against each other. As they streaked past, they left behind two Sidewinders, which collided with each other and formed a forked explosion as their bits and pieces fell to the ground below. Glen, growling, twisted the Tomcat's stick and turned to face the Raptor pilot, whom managed to turn the flesh-colored jet around within the same time frame and begin accelerating again.

Both pilots stared each other down as a Terminator blew past them, being chased by three Hornets, their guns blazing. Chris weaved in and out of their fire before seeing a way out; a lone Eagle streaking its way toward him. Chris grinned and pulled his fighter into a loop, hoping that the Eagle pilot would get the idea.

And indeed, Mike did get the idea. As he saw Chris's Terminator turn toward him, he switched to his guns and held the reticule over the Temnota pilot's jet. As Chris sped by, he opened fire, tearing the Hornets to pieces as they streaked across his field of vision. He then pulled up and right, taking a good look at the Tempest as it seemed to go dormant again. He fired some random shells at it, but they bounced off the almost plastic-like coating that enveloped the super-jet.

One of the shells bounced off and nearly hit Joseph's lone Raptor as it streaked a burn mark across the shields. Behind him, two Hornets flew toward him, staying far enough away from the Tempest so they wouldn't collide with her shields. Joseph made minute adjustments, taking the form of Death on his horse, as he seemed to meld away with the shielding. The AI Hornets, dumbstruck, began to pull ahead for more obvious quarry. They didn't see Joseph as he almost materialized back into existence before firing two Sidewinders, destroying them in a second.

"Two kills confirmed, over," he called into the comm.

"Hold, Thanatos," Hijacker called over the squadron frequency. "We have a new group of signals; enemy Tomcats headed your way,"

"My radar's negative, I don't see anything," Nayden shouted back, flanking two Hornets with M61 fire.

"Wait, I see them," Erick claimed, his Phantom skimming the Tempest's surface. "Coming in, vector 3.5 on the enemy jet's nose, over,"

"I see them now," Chris confirmed, peeling above the Tempest with flaring afterburners. "Temnota, let's hold them off,"

"Negative, sir," Glen shouted back, almost hauntingly. He and Nodsri charged each other, pulling away just as their noses would collide; Glen could hear the two fighters scraping together. "I have my own battle,"

"Roger that," Chris replied. "Do your best, Glensather,"

"Yes, Phoenix,"

-

Three jets landed on the runway of the enemy airbase backwards, heading the wrong direction. The Berkut was in the lead, followed by the Tomcat-D, then the Wyvern. The three jets opened fire on some enemy soldiers who fired M-16s at them before grinding to a halt.

Juan was the first out. The canopy of his Wyvern opened sideways, the Plexiglas shielding the pilot from enemy fire as he quickly un-holstered his Colt M1911 from its resting place on his belt. He grabbed the top of the canopy and, using it as a brace, flipped up and out. As his body began to fall toward the ground, he let loose with four gunshots, aiming the best he could. The .45 caliber rounds streaked at the twenty-odd men that fired their weapons, wounding two and killing one.

Jonathan was next out of his jet. Grabbing the M-4 in the co-pilot's seat, the navy pilot kicked open his canopy, standing upright and unleashing hell on the retreating soldiers. He used his leg to tie the rope ladder about his heel, stood up tall, and jumped out of his jet. The loop around his leg tightened and stopped him from caving his head in an inch from the ground. He pointed the gun at the rope and fired a single round, severing the rope in two. He caught his fall with a hand and rolled, firing as he made it to a kneeling position.

Rei was last out, but the deadliest to act. As his canopy opened, Rei somersaulted, landing on the ground on one knee and firing his small P90. The bullets found their marks, the enemy soldiers collapsing and dying, and a bullet in each neck. Rei didn't stop moving after that, however; he went into a quick run, Jonathan and Juan behind him and running smoothly. He unsheathed a knife from its scabbard on his side and held it with his pistol, firing his clip to the last shell. As his gun emptied, he leaped into the air and hurled it, seemingly in no direction. However, the knife wound up in a sniper's forehead, a soldier standing on one of the burning hangars.

"There, she's over there!" Juan shouted, pointing at the unconscious body on the ground. Rei acknowledged it with a grunt, changing heading as he reloaded. The three pilots were assailed with gunfire from the hangars as they ran across the runway, toward the girl's position. Rei jumped and slid at the last second, rolled, and stopped at a kneel next to Rena.

"Rena, can you hear me?" He shouted at the girl, lifting her up in his arms. "Rena, answer!" Behind him, Jonathan offered a dose of return fire while Juan pulled out a personal assistant, remotely accessing his Wyvern from his position and reactivating it with a few passwords.

"Wyvern reactivated!" he shouted. "She'll give us some cover while we find the hangar!"

Rei nodded, looking back at Rena as she began coughing.

"Rena, look, it's me!" he shouted.

"R…Rei?" was the disconcerted reply. "Is that you?" The Temnota pilot nodded. "N… nice to see you again…" She smiled wanly before trying to stand on her own two feet.

"We need to get you out of here," Rei told her. "Where's your jet?" Slowly, Rena pointed at one of three undamaged hangars.

"There…" she whispered. Rei looked back at the others.

"We'll cover you two," Jonathan said, nodding. "Let's go, Crystal!"

-

Meanwhile, a Tomcat and a Raptor danced in the sky.

The fire from their afterburners formed X-shapes across the sky as the two jets criss-crossed, then a corkscrew as the bottom of their fuselages touched, both jets spinning around each other. The Tomcat broke off, pulled up, and fired a Sidewinder behind him. The Raptor responded with a burst of gunfire, blowing up the missile, but also much of the black canopy.

Shards of Plexiglas fell around Nodsri as he leveled out, establishing pursuit with and firing at the Tomcat as it weaved a figure 8 in the sky. Bullets lanced either side of the Tomcat canopy, and a few struck the top hinge, blowing it off with a loud pop as the pressure in the jet rapidly changed. Glen ignored the ringing in his ears as he set the Tomcat into a tight twist.

The Raptor caught up with him, though. Nodsri unbuckled himself and stood up in the cockpit, setting the jet to Autopilot. Glen responded in kind, unbuckling his belt and standing in his. As they flew over the top of the Tempest, both jets leveled themselves out, and both pilots looked at each other.

"And now you die," Nodsri whispered, his voice somehow carrying to Glen's ears. The Navy pilot's answer was to reach into his jacket and unsheathe his retractable blade. Nodsri merely grinned to that and pulled a weapon from the back of his pilot seat; another bladed weapon, much like Glen's, was there. He pulled it out and let the weapon gleam in the light.

The jets passed over the Tempest, and began to loop around, both Autopilots set to loop around the same area. The massive jet seemed to ignore the charade above.

Glen extended his weapon and, in one swift motion, leaped from his jet to Nodsri's with a downward chop. Nodsri responded by blocking the blow with his sword before going into a counterattack, jumping up and kicking Glen back to his own jet. The navy pilot rolled and kneeled, glaring at the opponent before him. Nodsri cackled and stood out on a wing, his eyes watching his opponent.

Both went into motion at once. Nodsri jumped back toward Glen's jet, his blade poised to thrust, but the Navy pilot looped around, coming up with a backward slice that was sure to sever Nodsri's head. But Nodsri reared back his blade behind his head, blocking the slice. He looped, using the momentum of the jets in flight to lift into the air and float above Glen for a second before grabbing a _second_ blade on his back.

Nodsri came down with both blades at once. Glen rolled as his brother struck, sending sparks into the air and a seven inch gash in his Tomcat. The dark-haired pilot responded with a counter-thrust, but anticipated Nodsri's attack. Both of his swords came from one side, just like planned, and Glen easily continued into his feint by overcompensating and twisting, the blades flying harmlessly above him as he fell to the jet's hull below.

Glen didn't stop, using one arm to lift himself up and the other to lock his sword with both of Nodsri's. He lifted up and pushed, sending Nodsri back on his jet, before leaping toward him. The Raptor leveled out, and Glen used his over-powered jump to fly above and behind Nodsri, landing on the opposite wing. He turned and lifted his blade into a fighting stance, walking slowly with his blade held out to the side in both hands.

Nodsri took both his swords and locked them together, then pulled the hilt down to connect below with the first. The result was an extended-handle, blue-hilted sword with two blades facing the same direction, mere inches apart. He charged the Navy pilot, who leaped into the air and came down hard with his sword. Nodsri responded with a parrying slash, hard enough to knock Glen back into the air, but not enough to deter him. Glen used his airborne position to strike three times in a row, suspended as Nodsri parried each one.

The final cut sent Glen up and back toward the Tomcat as the two jets began to turn again. He rolled back toward the cockpit, stopping at the edge and thrusting in a hand. As Nodsri leaped toward him and came down, Glen found what he was looking for and rolled, raising the hand and blocking the attack.

The weapon he held was a white-hilted sword with a phoenix etched inside.

-

Meanwhile, a single Terminator screamed around his opponent. The Hornet stood no chance as he almost flipped the fighter, putting it square behind the F/A-18 and firing a Sidewinder. The explosion disintegrated the Hornet, leaving the Terminator to blow through it. The pilot soundlessly changed course… only to change it again as a blast of lightning streaked in front of his fighter.

The Tempest had reawakened. It began to fire countless beams of lightning in every direction, seemingly unstoppable as beams found their mark, electrocuting and destroying anything that tried to stand near it.

"See this look? It's terror!" Someone shouted over the com.

"Did I give you permission to bitch?!" Erick fired back, ducking under another hail of bullets.

Chris couldn't help but agree, especially as he noticed the gigantic weapon that began to come out of the Tempest.

It ran the length of the ship; it wasn't wide, but it was bigger than the average mega-weapon. It lifted from the ship proper and protruded from the front as well. It resembled, in short, a massive artillery cannon, chrome in color, protruding from the back of the ship, running the length of the ship, and an extra part of the barrel extending out beyond the ship. It looked oversized and unwieldy.

But then, as Chris watched, the weapon began to charge. It began to suck in the oxygen around it, blue balls of energy entering the cannon. The shields flickered and died, and the rear engines cut off. All the energy went into the massive weapon as the individual cannons also died out, and a blue bar of light began to crawl its way up the sides of the weapon.

Everyone stared as the cannon charged… and as she fired.

-

Rei stopped at the edge of the hangar entrance and peered inside. There were seven soldiers, armed with AK-47s. Rei had four bullets and one knife.

He could take them.

Rei burst open the door and aimed with one hand. With the other, he pulled out his only other knife and chose a target independent of where his gun was pointed, and then hurled it. Simultaneously, he fired his four remaining bullets before dropping his gun and ran toward the soldier in which his knife was impaled.

As the soldiers died of gunshots, Rei jumped and grabbed the knife, rolled, and stood. The remaining two soldiers began to open fire, but Rei was too fast. He rolled again, made it past the first man, and sliced the second man's neck. With his death throes, the man aimed at Rei, but the pilot moved away at the last second, letting the soldier shoot his ally in the back with full auto fire.

Rei stood up and beckoned Rena. The girl ran in and saw her MiG-21, resting quietly.

"I'm on my way!" she shouted. "Rei, let's go!" The Berkut pilot nodded and ran back toward her, passing the girl on his way back to his jet.

"Meet me in the sky!" He shouted as he ran out. Rena nodded to him before scrabbling up the fighter and into the cockpit. She quickly started up the jet and began to take off. She aimed her jet at the open hangar doors and drove the jet out, where three more waited on her. She got in line behind the three others, and together they began to take off.

Amidst a hail of gunfire, the four jets lifted into the sky.

But then the Tempest fired.

-

Glen came up with both swords. Both blades whirled as one sliced up while the other cut sideways. Nodsri gasped in mock fright as he parried one and ducked the other, coming up with a hard thrust. Glen leaped backwards into the air and whirled, using both blades like a fan. He cut one, two, three, four, five times in rapid succession. Nodsri parried the progressively faster attacks, but the fifth one was stronger than he anticipated.

The dual-blade split in two with force, but Nodsri was unperturbed. As Glen landed, he attacked with vigor. Both blades launched upward at Glen, who parried with both with a cutting spin, sheathing the black-hilted blade and using Phoenix's instead. He changed stances, holding the blade to the side, yet pointed right at Nodsri. They circled before both leapt into the air.

The jets passed from below the two, and off into the distance. Both pilots clashed in midair, suspended in the sky as they attacked one another. Glen chopped downward, but Nodsri parried and reformed his dual-blade. He locked with Glen and flipped, twisting up and standing briefly on Glen's outstretched blade, before leaping into the air and coming down hard.

Instead of rolling, Glen lifted his blade with both hands, locking swords and using the downward momentum to his advantage. He grabbed Nodsri by the leg and twisted, throwing him down toward the Tempest as her shields went offline.

Nodsri crashed to the ship in a heap. Glen flipped three times before landing hard, but not hurt, on one knee. He took in two deep breaths, glaring through his hair at Nodsri, who stood and cracked his neck before assuming a straightforward fighting stance.

The cannons around the two went offline as Nodsri charged again.

-

The giant cannon fired.

A massive blue bolt of light ejected from the cannon and shot across the horizon. It screamed a blue fire through the sky, cutting the air and the clouds in two. Its fire consumed all life as it neared its target, slowly forming into a beam of death. The beam focused onto a single point of energy, and attacked it. It found its target – the slow-flying bombers of Panzer flight, halfway to home base and a hundred miles away – and struck them all, accurate to a T.

The first bombers caught in the blast didn't leave their pilots a chance to scream as their hulls superheated to almost 1000 degrees Celsius and erupted into a fiery blaze. The second two the blast cut through began to eat away the hull, the pilots inside screaming in almost maniacal fear as they felt their flesh boil away and their organs melt to mush before their jets simply vaporized. The A-10 escorts almost dodged out of the way, but the blast caught the left halves of their jets, sending half a plane – and a pilot – to the waters below.

The only survivors were a B-1 and a B-2, which just so happened to be flying about 10 feet below the impact point. The pilots looked up in awe and fear as the blast vaporized their allies and seemed to continue past the horizon.

"What the _unholy flying hell_ was that?!" Carpet Bomber yelled.

"I have no idea," Hijacker replied. "Freelance, what was that thing?"

"A bigass cannon is what it was," Erick informed the 767 pilot as he rallied a few Terminators around him to cut across the now exposed hull of the Tempest with missile and Vulcan fire. "Man, this thing is really starting to _piss me off!_"

The remnants of Air Ixiom joined up with Erick as he launched all his Sidewinders at the bare hull of the Tempest. They fired their remaining weapons before breaking off and engaging with some incoming Hornets. Some other Temnota jets, though busy with enemy jets, also broke off and fired salvos at the Tempest.

But something seemed amiss…

Even as the missiles and gunfire pierced the hull and blackened the chrome, something seemed terribly wrong to Captain Chris Johnson.

Nosing up his Terminator, he looked into the eye of the beast. He weaved around two fighters, slowing his jet down purposefully and glaring at the cockpit of the super-jet in front of him.

"We have to kill this thing…" he whispered. "Yet, there's not enough damage being done to it. Looking back, the Phoenix watched his Temnota teammates as they held off the invaders. Looking ahead, he watched the gunfire and Sidewinder missiles slash across the giant cannon's sides, a few even entering the cannon itself, but no real damage was done. "But what to do?"

-

Rei and the others joined the furball with the ferocity of a cheetah.

The Temnota pilot led the other three over the cannon of the jet and into the Hornet's nest of fighters. Silently, he broke off from the rest, engaging with three fighters.

"I'll handle these," he finally said. Jonathan nodded and pulled left and up, to where a third group of fighters was coming in.

"I'll take these," he said. Juan and Rena looked back at each other.

"My jet has no weapons on it," Rena said meekly.

"Mine only has guns," Juan replied.

"Good luck," was Rena's response. Juan nodded and folded in his V-wings, taking to the sky. This left only Rena to watch the fight around her.

What she saw was carnage.

Below her, two swordsmen clashed. To her left, Temnota jets joined up with Jonathan to hold off the third wave. To her right, what was left of the proud Air Ixiom was now merely four jets that strived to hold off the remaining jets from the original first wave. Ahead of her, a black streak across the sky marked the cannon's blast path, while Mobius jets and Ouroboros Hornets engaged one another.

The girl sighed and looked down at her flight stick, her jet unarmed and useless. She took in a deep breath.

Suddenly, her RWR went off. Looking around wildly, the girl broke from her reverie and pushed forward on her stick, plummeting toward the Tempest's deck. She looked around for her enemy's missile that was pursuing her. The missile evaded her eyesight, though, so she was left with nothing to do but to evade what she couldn't see.

She righted herself and screamed across the top of the Tempest's hull, unsure of what to do next. She searched her thoughts for something, anything to use so she could evade the incoming missile. She saw out of the corner of her eye an offline cannon, but it was too small, and the margin of error would be too big to be useful. So instead the girl pushed up her throttle past the breaking limit, hitting and bypassing the sound barrier over the Tempest. As she cleared the end of the jet, she pulled up.

For a second, she caught sight of the AIM-9x chasing her… and gaining. Cursing, the girl pushed even harder up on the throttle, trying to get whatever speed she could out of her jet.

"Damnit, I just got this thing back!" she shouted to no one, her jet now reaching the clouds. "Damnit, what should I do?"

A voice then rang in the girl's head, clear as day.

_Eject_.

She blinked.

"What?"

_Eject._

"I don't…" But her hands were already moving. She clasped the eject handle and pulled. There was a flash as her seat's jet crashed her through, sending her out into the sky. Slowly, she disconnected herself from the pilot seat, though it seemed as though she wasn't the one directing the actions.

And then… she was falling.

--Project N—

Falling… falling to the ground… Rena blinked slowly.

--AI 0100101—

Her actions were no more her own… but she felt the falling. The infinite, quick and slow falling.

--Commence Operation--

Rena gasped and blinked. As her eyes opened, they glowed an ethereal red. Her body went limp in the sky, but her mind was alert.

0111010100101001011101000100011111101000001010101010001110001000011110000101000100010010101010101000100001110001001010110101010010101011001101101110111011011010101101010101101011111101111010000110101011101010110110110

Below, at the enemy base, a flaming hangar seemed to die out. Within its destroyed hull was a draped fighter, seemingly useless and held up by its wheels.

0111010100101001011101000100011111101000001010101010001110001000011110000101000100010010101010101000100001110001001010110101010010101011001101101110111011011010101101010101101011111101111010000110101011101010110110110

"What… am… I?" Rena managed to gasp, her now-red eyes flashing briefly.

A voice from nowhere answered her.

_My daughter._

0111010100101001011101000100011111101000001010101010001110001000011110000101000100010010101010101000100001110001001010110101010010101011001101101110111011011010101101010101101011111101111010000110101011101010110110110

There was a flare of blue-red light from the burned-out hangar.

The sheet fell off the fighter, revealing its sleek red-and-white sheen, the missiles loaded on her, and the hexagon-shaped glass that surrounded the cockpit.

"… Nephilim…" Rena whispered.

And she was gone.

-

"God _Damnit!"_

Chris jerked the stick hard left and sent his jet between two Hornets. He was out of missiles and ammo by now, each one having been used effectively to kill the enemy jets. He was now serving as a decoy, setting jets up to be destroyed by his teammates and wingmen. His fuel was running low, having been afterburning almost the entire fight. He gritted his teeth in annoyance as he looked for an opponent to bait, the two behind him torn to shreds by Vulcan fire.

The battle was slowly becoming the enemy's favor. As the FA ran out of ammo and fuel, the enemy was pressing harder against them. By now, a good 1/3 of Temnota had fallen to enemy fire, and it was all Chris could do to take some heat off of the nuggets around him. He knew that something, anything, had to be done, but there was nothing he could think of. The enemy looked like it was going to win.

But Chris couldn't let that happen.

"D… damnit!" Hijacker shouted over the com. "High energy readings bouncing from the target! She's going to fire again!"

Suddenly, the dice rolled very high for Captain Chris Johnson. He knew what he had to do.

-

"Hyyyaaaa!"

Nodsri's dual blade came around and locked with the white blade. Glen reached to his side and rapidly unsheathed his black blade, holding it reverse-facing as he twisted and swung hard. The easily fatal attack was diverted as Nodsri flipped backward, landing backwards but quickly turning around. Glen switched facings, the white blade in his off-hand and the black blade in his left, twisting it to a normal position. He glared through his long hair at his opponent and brother.

"Just like father said," Nodsri said, his blade lifting to his side. "It's all like he said it would, brother,"

"It won't happen, though," Glen said, stretching his blades out. "I'll make sure of that!"

"You and what army?" Nodsri smirked before charging, his blade held out forward. He leaped again into the air, coming down hard with a thrust. Glen began to spin both blades like fans, whirling them up and down in his hands. He stopped a half-second before Nodsri reached him, twirling his body around and swinging both blades together as one.

The four blades locked, and for a second all was silent. Then Nodsri gasped as Glen's sheer power sent him reeling backwards, across the Tempest and crashing him into the side of the Fusion Ray. Glen stared at him from across the distance before sheathing his black blade and holding the white blade in one hand. He whispered to himself, but like before, the words carried to Nodsri's ears.

"My sister will protect me…" he had said. With that, he turned and ran, full speed, down the wing of the Tempest. As the Fusion Ray charged a second time, he leaped off the edge.

-

And it was time.

As the cannon charged, Chris angled his jet appropriately. No one knew what he was doing, caught up in their own fight. Only his gun camera and Hijacker had a clue.

"This is what you get… for countless lives taken," Chris growled. He set his throttle to 200 and shot forward. He didn't see the jets around him take notice and break from their attacks.

"Chris, what are you doing?" Mike shouted, evading two fighters.

"I know what you're thinking… don't do it!" Jonathan yelled, cutting warning shots in front of the Terminator.

But Chris was undeterred.

"I have to… it's the only way," he growled. His hands loosened their tight grip as his lone Terminator ducked and weaved around deterring gunfire, but never losing sight of his target. He grinned to himself. It was selfish, he thought, dying a hero's death. But in this way, he knew, it would come to and end. The Phoenix was going to fall, but in the end, the Tempest would be destroyed… hopefully.

Shrugging almost casually, Chris took a breath and dove into the barrel of the Fusion Ray. All around him, blue lights danced as the cannon charged. At the bottom, he saw the light of the Ray, powering up… and he charged.

In his mind's eye, Chris saw many things. The swordsmanship he expressed, the friends he had in the FA, his Temnota allies, Erick smiling and slapping him good-naturedly on the shoulder, Glen's dark and brooding look, a feeling of satisfaction as Rena managed a shy smile at Rei, though the latter had no clue, and finally, the image of the phoenix of which he was named.

The cannon fired.

And in the chaos, three explosions.

The Terminator holding Chris was vaporized instantly, but the contained area ruptured the concentrated energy of the Tempest. White fire raced out of the barrel, but fell short and landed in the ocean water. Inside the Tempest, an explosion rocked the hull to the core, and multiple fires spewed out of multiple rips in the skin.

But the most haunting thing of all, was the third explosion. From the point where Chris was vaporized, a spout of fire unfurled itself. Its wings spread, its beak pointed up, the ghostly image of a Phoenix, etched in white light, screeching its tears into the sky.

And then all was silent.

But with no time to grieve, the pilots of the FA continued to fight.

-

It was then that it responded. As the light faded, a jet hovered in midair with no help from its engines. It was a jet that took the basic shape of a Tomcat and ran away with it. Instead of the smooth look of the Tomcat's edges, they were replaced with sharp angles and points. The spear-tipped nose glowed with a blue light that trailed into and around the canopy of the cockpit, etched with hexagon-plated glass instead of the classic smooth glass. The white jet's wings began to swing outward, their pointed tips glowing also with blue light. Underslung on pylons, a variety of missiles were loaded, the same colors of the jet and spear-tipped. The fuselage, unlike the rest of the jet, was smooth, but the colors of white with red trim were the same. The tail was heavily angled and spear-tipped, and the engines burning with blue fire.

Inside the canopy, a HUD appeared. Words scrolled across it before coming to a stop.

_Project N_

_XF/A-27 Nephilim_

_AI JAM-1 Online_

_COFFIN Cockpit System Active_

_Maneuver System Active_

_Throttle System Active_

_Weapon System Active_

_SERAPH System Active_

…

…

…

…

…

_Commence Operation_

_Pilot: Davenport, Rena_

_Rank: Airman, First Class_

…

…

…

**I HAVE CONTROL.**

With that, the jet's blue shine exploded in a flash. With a jerk, it moved up with lightning speed and cut through the air. Two Hornets foolishly flew in front of it and were cut down by the wings of the jet itself as they swung in. The Nephilim's red fire trailed the jet as three more Hornets were cut down.

The jet flew up and over the hulking wreck of the Tempest as the super-jet tried to mangle itself away, the cannon retracted and almost all its energy on shields and engines. On the HUD, more words scratched up.

_Arm Weapon: AAM-3N_

_Lock-On Threshold: Multi-Target_

_Targets: F/A-18C Hornet_

_Lock-On_

_Commence Firing_

All of the Nephilim's missiles dropped, and all of them streaked forward to the targets in front of it. The missiles struck each target, and a grid of fire blossomed in front of the struggling Black Adler flight and the jet itself. But then, the jet turned and again was gone. This time, it streaked toward a falling figure. As Glen was a mere 15 feet from the ground, the jet seemed to appear next to him and snatch him up in the cockpit.

It was inside there that Glen saw the soft red glow of the cockpit. He stared around before locking eyes at the almost prone figure of Rena Davenport, her arms folded across her chest and her form locked away tightly amongst a series of neural receivers and a HUD that flashed in front of her closed eyes. The navy pilot stared in wonder as the jet twisted in air, destroying everything it came across.

A dance of death, it was.

Glen nodded to himself, content in the seat that seemed to fit him fine. Looking out the hexagon class, he watched the world blaze by at Mach 2.

-

Just as quickly as the battle began, it was over.

The sudden appearance of Nephilim had all but ended the battle, and Rena awoke to full consciousness seemingly undisturbed by her reappearance in the XF/A-27. The Tempest had run away as the fight winded down, and the low-fuel FA was content with letting it go. The enemy had suffered many losses in jets and equipment, and the base was claimed in the name of the Freelance Alliance. The enemy's manpower had been reduced significantly, and the Tempest seemed to be irreparable.

But there were losses. There was no more Volksjaeger flight to speak of anymore. The Kampfer flight was reduced to two bombers, and Black Adler had only four jets remaining. Temnota was down to half its number and leaderless. Mobius was down to only four jets as well, and Erick's Phantom had no tail to speak of, and its left engine was weak. Thanatos and Angel squadron were the only two to have not suffered a single loss, but those had been shaken.

Also, Nodsri was by all accounts still alive.

Worst of all, the FA had lost a founding member. Chris Johnson was gone forever, his legacy being the sum of his kills… or so it seemed.

For on Glen's back, one more legacy remained. The white blade of the Phoenix rested softly, waiting to be used again.

As the jets reached Bronze Gate One for the first time in quite a while, everyone was tired and exhausted. Their only hope was that the now-named enemy also needed to drastically recover.

That alone was enough for some weary pilots.

-

_Fall of the Phoenix:_

_Epilogue – Lain to Rest_

-

**5 Days Later**

It was a solemn moment in time.

They had never recovered Chris's body, so the next best thing was to give him an honorable salute. Glen had placed a burial mound in one of the only patches of natural land left on Fell-Raven Island – a cliff over the ocean, off to the side yet open to all - and impaled the white blade there. The monument was also decorated with the pilot's medals and Pilots' Wings. Although his name was prominent, under his mound, the names of each pilot that had died in the past year was placed, under his own.

It wasn't nearly enough… but it would do.

Eleven tear-stained and saluting pilots stood at the threshold between life and death at that moment, dressed in their uniforms and looking to the sky. The remnants of the FA made a fly-by salute, and the remaining Temnota pilots set up in the Missing Man formation for their lost leader. There were no words for a long time.

Finally, Erick broke the salute, and behind him, twenty-one soldiers aimed and fired their rifles three times. The FA Colonel turned around and presented a weak, melancholy smile.

"It was all we could give him," he said sadly.

"It's not enough," Cid replied firmly.

"It never will be," Joseph muttered under his breath.

"Not until they're all dead," Glen said, blinking away his own tears. Erick looked at each pilot, one by one, until he stepped toward them.

"Remember this moment," he said. "It's not every day that we're all together. There will be a time when we die, but until then, we need to live the best we can," he paused. "Every waking moment we're in the skies, we risk our lives for this nation. We will do all we can to protect her, even at our own lives. Don't forget that," he looked back toward the grave and monument. "I heard some of the pilots talking like we had begun. We all here know that's not true… the death of Captain Chris Johnson was the official declaration of war by the enemy… by the Slaves of Ouroboros,"

"And as long as they live, I'll fight," Rei declared resolutely.

"And as long as I live, I'll protect the others," Rena said.

"And as long as the FA exists, there will be Angels," Erick finished. "For that is what we are, in the end. Phoenix has fallen, but he left behind not sorrow, but praise. We now have more than just our nation to fight for; we have the desire to stand and fight for our own,"

"We are the Sky's Angels," Erick said, his voice raising. "Let's not forget that," Looking back again, he nodded. Lifting Hat off of his head, he held it in the sky. "This is for you, Phoenix!"

"For Erusia!" Raneses shouted.

"For the world!" Jonathan yelled.

"For that which is right… for that which we will always fight for… for what we love, what we have, and what we can give… it is our declaration of Guardianship…" Glen grinned. "As the _Freelance Alliance_!"

And in one resounding cry, the eleven pilots took their hats off their heads and tossed them toward the ocean.

"_Long live the Freelance Alliance!"_

-

** Cast of Characters**  
(In order of appearance)  
Phoenix – Chris Johnson  
Zero – Alfred Santos  
Stargazer – Cid Jacobo  
Darkside – Joseph Burns  
Irish – Erick von Long  
Wild Goose – Jack David  
Harper-Blue – Sasha Drake  
Glensather – Glen Galanodel  
Blade – Rena Davenport  
Yukikaze – Rei Fukai  
Mas – Nayden Kilpatrick  
Mobius 1 – William Randolph  
Nodsri – Mark Galanodel  
Viper – Jonathan Anderson  
Crystal/Frontier – Juan Septiano  
Zaku – Mike Durao  
Suzie – Susan West  
Evil – Jaime Earl  
Hijacker – Oka Nieba  
Carpet Bomber – Hiroyuki

** Main Staff **

_Scenario:_  
G. Galanodel (Exile Studios)

_Art Director:_  
M. Durao (Freelance Productions)

_Music:_  
Keiki Kobayashi with Various Artists (NAMCO)

_Character Art Supervisor:_  
Kei Miyamoto

_Character Motion Supervisor:_  
Jun Masuda

_Sets and Props Supervisor:_  
Ken Takahashi (Production I.G.)

_Animation Supervisor:_  
M. Durao

_VF/X Supervisor:_  
E. Davis (Freelance Productions)

_Sequence Supervisor:_  
G. Galanodel

_Editor:_  
"Shadow" Supervisor:  
"Fonce Diablo" Section

_Storyboard/Layout Artists:_  
M. Durao  
G. Galanodel  
E. Davis  
J. David

_Character Model Artists:_  
M. Durao  
S. Drake  
Yuji Yamazaki  
Takumi Iwanaga

_Animation Studios:_  
Exile Studios LTD.  
Freelance Productions  
GAiNAX

_CG Studios:_  
Exile CG, LTD.  
Production I.G.  
Project ACES

** Art Section **

_Character Designers:_  
M. Durao  
T. Kanashime  
C. Ayamachi

_Background Designer:_  
Keisuke Wakaba

**Music Section **

_Composers/Artists:_  
Nightwish  
Keiki Kobayashi  
GAiNAX  
Blind Guardian  
Tetsukazu Nakanishi  
Puddle of Mudd  
Luca Turilli

_Recording Studio:_  
Pioneer LTD.

_Songs:_  
"Scramble"  
Composer: Keiki Kobayashi  
Conductor: Tetsuya Nomura

"Blind Corridor"  
Composer: Tetsukazu Nakanishi  
Conductor: Tetsuya Nomura

"Behold Ouroboros (Arranged Ace Combat 5 "Razgriz / Opening Theme")"  
Composer: Keiki Kobayashi  
Conductor: Tetsuya Nomura

"Fall of the Phoenix (Arranged Ace Combat 5 "First Flight")"  
Composer: Keiki Kobayashi  
Conductor: Tetsuya Nomura

"I Wish I Had an Angel"  
Performed by: Nightwish  
Album: Once

"Angel Attack"  
From _Neon Genesis Evangelion_

"Battlefield"  
Performed by: Blind Guardian

"Blurry"  
Performed by: Puddle of Mudd  
Album: Come Clean

"Legend of Steel"  
Performed by: Luca Turilli  
Album: Prophet of the Last Eclipse

** Sound Section **

_Sound Design/Effect Studios:_  
NAMCO

_Dialogue Editor:_  
G. Galanodel

_Dialogue Studio:_  
Exile Studios, LTD.

** Special Thanks by the XP**

**Windows Media Player**

**Studio GAiNAX**

**Erick C. Davis**

**Chris Johnson**

**Michael Durao**

**Jack David**

**And finally…**

**To The Freelance –fucking- Alliance**

******DOLBY DIGITAL THX**

******PRO LOGIC II PM3**


End file.
